


Indicted

by PoisonedPrada



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F, Mirandy Bingo, Mirandy Week, Mirandy Year of Fun & Frolics, Pre Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2019-11-27 12:36:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 28,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18194678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoisonedPrada/pseuds/PoisonedPrada
Summary: A different take on the love affair between Andrea and Miranda. Starting in Paris taking us through their history.





	1. The proposal ~

“Why don’t you just marry me Andrea?” Miranda challenges as Andrea gets up from the velour sofa to end their impromptu meeting.

“What do you mean? You’re the one that doesn’t’ want anyone to know,” the young assistant smiles.

Miranda raises her chin, halfway looks up, slowly raises her hand and pushes a flyaway hair out of her porcelain colored face. She shakes her head slightly, “I don’t think that’s the reason you’re leaving.”

“I’m leaving for job advancement,” Andrea is standing up, six inch stilettos towering over the older editor who’s sitting crossed legged on the bigger couch across. 

“I think you’re afraid,” she purrs. It is catalytic sends a shiver down Andrea’s spine. 

She looks shocked and annoyed, spinning around in her heels, “Afraid? Of what?”

Miranda doesn’t answer right away, she gets up, still slightly shorter than her assistant even in her thin Manolo pumps. She’s wearing wide leg pants and a brocade top. She’s always been Park Avenue meets 5th Avenue, she’s always been sure of herself. She’s not wrong now, she knows Andrea cares more than she had lead on, she knows it’s more than a few nights of sex.

“Afraid,” she starts, “afraid that you love me. Afraid that I’m the one,” it’s a finite answer. The kind of answers that Miranda always gives.

“Miranda what the fuck are you playing at? Tomorrow, when we leave,” Andrea raises her hands to symbolize them leaving, “it’s back to normal. This isn’t Paris anymore, it’s not random meetings and hotel rooms. It’s back to reality, to scrutiny, you want to go all out, full out, just like that?”

“Don’t you?” she raises her hand.

Andrea shakes her head, “No, I don’t think you want that.”

“You’re afraid, that everything you had thought for yourself is not what you want anymore. The journalism career, the perfect marriage, the kids, the family, the in-laws. You’re afraid that you’ll never be able to forget me, that as far as you go, as successful as you become, you will always love me,” she can see the wheels turning in brown orbs.

“I don’t know what you want right now, what did you want when all this started? “

“You kissed me,” Miranda snatches back, she turns from the window to face Andrea again, “I should be asking you that question.”

“I have to go, the plane leaves at 6 in the morning, it’s already midnight,” Andrea states.

“I’m only going to ask you this once Andrea, marry me,” she repeats.

Andrea knows how much she hates repeating things. She’s sure she has no job after this either way. Why was Miranda doing this now? She was right, she had kissed her, it was a moment of insanity that led to an invitation into her suite, that led to wine and another night, and another.

She lets a deep sigh escape her, “I’ll see you in the morning Miranda, good night.”

There is no response from the famous editor. The door locks behind her. 

Miranda shakes her head, she puts the rocks glass down, there is no more whiskey. She knows she’s right, Andrea loves her, she’s afraid. She is sure of it, but there is nothing she can do.


	2. The friend

“Have you ever lifted your eyes, looked across the table and known, just known that you wanted that person on the other side to stay in your life forever?” Miranda’s question is more of a whisper. She looks down the glass of wine in front of her and slowly raises a cascade of lashes as if showing exactly what she meant. 

“Ah, Miranda, you love her, this ragazza,” Valentino says and is met with stormy blue eyes. 

Miranda is slightly shocked at how he knew, she opens her mouth for a moment as if to say something; yet she’s not sure what to say. Instead she’s taken back to that day when she looked across her glass desk as Andrea was taking notes on something Jocelyn was saying. She looked up from her own spread on the expensive glass and was met for a brief moment with pools of brown staring back at her. She could hear talk in the background but she wasn’t sure what it was. She knew then, at that moment that there was something special about this girl that was sitting across her, the way she had changed, she had blossomed at Runway. She liked to think it was because of her, but she had to admit it was mostly Nigel and maybe Emily. 

“What do you think?” she heard Jocelyn ask and she turned assertive as if she had a clue to what Jocelyn was asking and shook her head, “I don’t like it.”

“But Miranda,” the poor woman started, 

“Come back with something better,” she said and shooed them away. Andrea went away too and she wasn’t sure how to make this woman her friend. Maybe she’d promote her, that could work, then she could mentor her. That had to be it, she wanted a friendship with Andrea. It was the oddest feeling, to want to get to know someone. Then fate, unfortunately for Emily stepped in. She would take Andrea to Paris. 

She still remembered that night when she called her into the study, she used the looking up at her through large eyelashes technique. She could remember the slight fluster in the young woman, the fresh cut bangs, the thin Chanel necklace, the sweater with the crisp white shirt. It was one of her favorite outfits on the young assistant. 

“You have to decide,” she told Andrea as she extended her hand and asked for the book. It was then at that moment that she realized what this really was, and it was completely overwhelming. She wanted to get up and run her fingers over the straight long hair, and know what it was like to kiss soft painted lips. She wanted to ask Andrea to stay, to sit, to talk to have a glass of wine and keep her company. She had seen women before, when she was very young, but it had been hushed and fleeting and seemed like an experimental game. This, the fire that burned her, the deep desire to connect with this brunette, the unfamiliar need for Andrea to love her, well this was something else. Something that she was sure Andrea could never correspond. 

Then Stephan filed for divorce,

“Is there anything I can do for you Miranda?” the brunette had asked.

“your job,” the editor had answered coldly.

Andrea had walked out nodding, only to knock back a few minutes later.

“Andrea what …” was all that she managed to say before Andrea leaned in and kissed her very chastely and perfectly out of view from the opened door.

“Miranda … I just,” this time it was Andrea who was interrupted by Miranda.

“Andrea would you like to come inside?”

The silver hair editor was met with an eager nod, and an entangled hand as soon as the door closed. There was no clear invitation but Andrea followed her to the room the following night.

“Would you like to come in?” was the question posed again, met with the same eager nod.

Miranda didn’t say it, perhaps that had been it. She had not told Andrea how she felt, she had hoped the soft whisper of her words, the rhythm of her hands, the tandem of her body had said it all. The night had been repeated again and again, for four days. Then the last night Andrea had asked her about Nigel.  
Miranda had not missed it, the way Andrea almost left. The inner turmoil in the young woman.

“Why?” she asked Miranda as soon as the doors closed.

“I owe Nigel, I know I do,” she handed the brunette a glass of whiskey.

That had seemed to be all that needed to be said, Andrea set the whiskey aside and took out a notepad. “your itinerary for tomorrow is set, you have a meeting on Tuesday after you settle back home.”

“Why don’t you just marry me Andrea?” had been the only way Miranda could say it. She wasn’t one to sugar coat the truth. She knew Andrea felt the same, she just knew it. The way that girl had looked at her for months, the kiss, the nights making love. It hadn’t been just sex, the long conversations about life, and dreams and everything in between.

“You must go after her,” Valentino murmurs after a beat of silence and covers the editors hand with his own.

“Maybe this time I was wrong,” she questions.

“Pero amata, you must not doubt yourself, you must … you must get her back,” he insists.

A single tear falls down the editor’s porcelain face, “Ah, I think maybe for her it was just a night, a few nights, a power crush,” she shrugs her shoulders.

The older designer shakes his head in commiseration for his dear friend.

“How embarrassing, let’s talk about something else, that’s not what we are here for,” she quickly recovers drying the lone tear and smiling. 

“Nonsense,” he says in his accent “we’re here to have dinner and talk about life, this is life. You’re me dear friend, this is what we’re here for.” As he finishes he puts both hands over hers, encircling like old friends do when there are no words to heal heartbreak and Miranda closes her oceans of blue and suddenly all there is in the secluded booth are soft sobs and warm tears of the one woman that hates to cry.


	3. Marriage, children and time off

“So … they finally fired you?” the tall handsome man smiles at Andrea.

She sits down at the fast- casual bistro they had picked for a rendezvous.

“No, I quit. I gave my two weeks after Paris,” she smiles at him. She still finds him endearing, his eyes are like drops of rain leveraged against the night. 

“you quit? You quit Miranda?” he means it as a joke.

“It wasn’t like they paint her, she’s great at what she does. I just needed something in what I want to do,” she smiles trying to appease the annoyance that has boiled up inside her. 

“Well, that’s awesome, so what now?” he continues.

“I have snagged a writing position at the New York times, contributor in the lifestyle section,” she smiles broadly and sips the late that has arrived.

“sounds a lot like fashion,” he states superiorly. 

She nods, “it is.”

They part after some more small talk and a promise for Andrea to visit him in Boston, his new sous chef position.

“Sounds a lot like potato cook,” she murmurs to herself on her first day at the Times.

Miranda would have congratulated her, she would have understood what a milestone this was. Maybe she would have invited her out for a celebratory diner. She knows she was right in walking away from the editor, what Miranda had with her was infatuation. There was no way that someone like Miranda falls in love with someone like her. Still her memory is caught in their third night in Paris. They had been to the Galliano Show and she followed Miranda to her room.

“I have something for you,” Miranda had murmured.

“A glass of wine would be nice,” Andrea jokes. 

Miranda murmurs something and then she’s presented with a thin gold necklace, interlocking rings met at the middle by two anchors holding a pearl. 

“Miranda it’s beautiful,” she smiles and then frowns, “it’s not for me, is it?”

Miranda nods, “it is.”

“I can’t, I don’t want … this is not,” she stammers and stumbles over her words. The thoughts race in her mind.

“I know, but I saw it and it made me think of you, and I,” she stops.

“Like we’re two anchors on different boats?” Andrea completes the exact sentence she’s going to finish. 

“Yes,” she drapes across Andrea’s thin neck. 

“But, also, I was thinking I want to see you wearing it, wearing just this,” she whispers.

The memory catches her smiling, “When women smile to themselves it’s usually love and marriage and children and time off,” her editor smirks as she drops the pencil in her hand.

“Trust me Earl this is not love and even if it were there would be no children,” she says and he shakes his head.

“Did you go to the Duchesses Garden Party?” he asks and Andrea nods, “I did.”

“I’m taking the weekend off, going to Boston,” she announces to him as he walks away from the cubicle.

“See I told you it was love, who is he?”

“Nate,” she whispers.

“lucky dog,” he yells across the room.

Nate is all but kind. It is almost like when they first met, she has convinced herself he is the one for her. She thought so after all at some point, before Runway. She had lived with him, thought about marriage and kids and time off. She smiles as he shows her the harbor and the city view across clear blue waters where the first British landed many centuries ago.

“You know we have newspapers here too,” he says that night as she lies in bed with him. Does this seal their relationship or are they still healing she asks herself. She could never tell Nate that she kissed Miranda, that she ran her fingers over the older woman’s curves, that she cared for her. She thinks of this as his hand pulls her tight. 

“I know,” she answers, “but I like New York, it is my fate.” She wears a thin gold chain with two anchors and a pearl as a pendant. It is a reminder of two paths that cannot merger. Pears and swine, maybe this was swine. She taps it with her hand, she had to walk away. It was a disaster waiting to happen. It was too much to do and tell and fix. She didn't have the strength to go through with it for Miranda to later realize it had been a mistake.This was not a Hermes scarf in the wrong color or a shoot that could be re-done. This was feelings and people and broken families. This was real life and Andrea wasn't sure Miranda knew what that was. Nate, he was safe, and comfortable and he knew what the real world was like.

“Well, I guess I’ll have to find a good job there at some point then,” he whispers lamely as they drift off to sleep.


	4. Are we friends?

The days dragged on as slow as corpses across an empty battle field, rotten and dirty. Try as she may she could not shake the feeling of loss. It was foreign to her heartbreak and losing. Both made her feel defeated, lost and out of breath. She could not remember what heartbreak was, probably not since David. David was the twins father, probably the only person she had truly felt heartbroken over.

Valentino kept ringing to make sure she was okay, “ I’ve never seen you so sad over un amore!” 

“I’m fine darling,” she’d whisper into the phone.

“Vieni in Italia!” He would invite her and she’d shake her head at no one in particular.

“No, but we’ll have dinner again soon, when are you in New York?”

The twins asked if anything was wrong, “mom you look different?”

“Really bobbsies? I did try a new face cream,” she’d smile at her red headed beauties.

Laughter would fill the room, “that’s not it mom, you seem worried? Is everything okay at work?”

“You look sad,” Caroline would supply and her sister would nod.

“I am fine darlings,” she would assure them.

They could assume it was the divorce, the high profile divorce that spread across the media like wildfire during dry season. It had garnished enough popularity to make it into publications that normally did not care about her. There were rumors of abuse, affairs and stealing. Stephan was actually none of those, he was a good man with a big ego and a low tolerance for successful women. 

As the months went by each taking a piece of the calendar with them, it was no longer safe to assume it was the divorce that affected her. 

Nigel was the first to notice it, “what’s wrong with Miranda?” He asked Emily.

“Hell if I know, Why don’t you ask?” She challenges. The British read head knows that one may never ask the legendary editor about her personal life. It was the same as asking to be fired or given an impossible task is she rememberers well.

He almost spit out his coffee, “right and suffer death?”

She rolls her eyes, rigid as ever.

“She likes you, I would almost say she trusts you?”

He shakes his head, “well played, Emily.”

He told her no, but as he walked back to his studio in his plaid pants and dark turtleneck he considered her words. Miranda had been really different for a while, now that he thought about it. 

He ran his hand over his bald head, and straightened his shirt. He cared for Miranda deeply as a mentor and dare he say a friend? She could be a hard ass bitch driving for excellence but if you got to know her deep enough she was kind.  
She had given him a chance when no one believed in him, pulled him through the ranks as she ascended. They had known eachother as fresh eyed young kids and now they were comfortable in silence. 

“Nigel? May I help you?” She asks as he stands in the doorway towards the end of the day. The sun has dropped like a large lollipop against the city sky and now strands of orange streak the sky as he looks at her platinum hair.

“I was on my way out, do you need anything else?” His question is tentative and out of place. He never asks her this, he never tells her when he is leaving. 

She pouts and looks up at him, “I don’t believe so, I would have called you otherwise...”

There is a beat in the conversation, he looks out at the two empty desks outside. Emily was down in photography and the second assistant had been fired yesterday.

“Do you need something?” She asks him enunciating the ‘you' enough where he approaches and sits down. She raises an eyebrow but says nothing.

“What do you think we are?” He asks, he suddenly sounds like a lover asking for assurance, to his surprise she laughs.

“You’re not getting sentimental in old age are you?” She gets up walking upright and pours whiskey for them. The liquid swishes and settles down in the intricate glasses she possesses, it sines golden brown with the hint of sunlight and for a moment as he sips it elegantly he is not sure he should have asked. 

“You my dear are probably my oldest friend, before Valentino and Hillary ever asked me to dinner you and I used to share dinner at that Italian restaurant down the street and talk about making it, making it into what now are. Do you remember?" 

He smiles, “why did we stop talking?”

She shrugs and gulps her drink.

“Because I became a snob and you thought I’d fire you?” She means it as a joke but it is the truth.

He stays silent, “ I want to know you’re okay?”

She knows what he’s taking about, he’s noticed too, the whole staff has probably noticed 

“I’m fine,” she sighs but slumps against the chair and pours them another drink.

“I’m going to ask but I anticipate your answer will be no,” he pauses and sips the second drink.

“Is it the divorce?” he waits.

She looks across the desk, fine blue eyes, like water when it freezes stare back at him. 

She shakes her head, “no.”

“Who then?” he knows this can’t possibly be work related.

“If I tell you,” she stops, she won’t tell him. It’s madness, he’ll thinks she has lost it.

“You don’t have to,” he stops her, “I’ll assume.”

Her eyes narrow and she blinks back tears, “you can’t”

“Try me,” he reaches across the desk again and pours both of them one more drink, what he tells himself will be the last drink, a double.

“Go then,” she challenges.

“Defiant, strong willed and smart as hell, brown eyes, long brown..” she signals for him to stop. 

“Stop it,” she says and tears roll down her eyes again, it’s worse than when she had the twins. 

“What happened?” he asks.

She looks up the same curtain of lashes that looked up at Valentino now drip with tears that cling like tomatoes to the vine. Her clear eyes redden quickly and she dabs her tears with the back of her hand.

“This is ridiculous,” she murmurs to herself more than Nigel.

She’s going to tell him what happened, how she slowly fell for the brunette, but she didn’t know it until before Paris. She’s going to tell him how Andrea’s lips deliciously touched her own, the burned and cooled as they pressed against her. They perfectly knew her, the way she kissed, her tongue darting without permission to thrill her. And how her hands expertly knew the right way to hold her, to caress slowly down her shoulder, onto her arms, and the crest of her breast. How she’d stop and look at her, desire dripping from her eyes, clinging to her breath, cascading in waves as her hands cupped her breasts and her lips again knew the way to make her back arch and her eyes close. She sighs, she’s going to tell him how on that last day she left, walked out of the room and didn’t come back.

Miranda waited, she waited for a knock. She didn’t sleep, she stayed awake four hours until she was called to the lobby to take the limo to the Charles de Gaulle. She’s going to tell him all of this when Emily blazes through the door, ignores the whiskey on the table and announces.

“Miranda, your ex-husband is on the phone, one of the twins is in the hospital.”

It takes a second for the haze of the whiskey to float away, “Stephan?”

“No, your other ex-husband,” she clarifies.

“James?” Miranda asks, “what hospital?”

Emily gulps, “David, the father of your daughters?” she says trying not to sound condescending, Miranda was drunk. It takes a second for her mind to grasp that. Not falling over, frat house kind of drunk, but cocktail party, too many cocktails drunk. She now focuses on the half decanter that is missing and she understands. Miranda looks completely different, she’s crying but not because of the twins, she had been crying before. Her heels are off and Nigel has been drinking too. There are two rocks glasses on the desk. She's going to need a moment to understand all of this, but not now.

“Right,” Miranda accepts without a challenge, “what hospital?”

“Lenox Hill, shall I call Roger?” Emily asks. 

“Yes, tell him to meet me in 20 and get me some coffee and an aspirin,” she orders and Emily nods.

“You’ll come with me, right?” she offers Nigel a pleading look.

The art director nods, “Of course.”


	5. Rivals

Andrea looked at her phone, she stared at the tiny notifications that flashed across it. There was one from her cell phone company, but no texts. She put it down, took a bite of the dumpling she had ordered. She looked at her phone again, less than a minute had elapsed, she hoped. She was met with the same blank screen. She had done that same action for the last three hours, in the car and throughout dinner.

“are you waiting for a call?” Lily asked.

“no,” Andrea said to her friend who had dragged her out to celebrate her new job at a better gallery than before.

“If I didn’t know you, I’d say you were lying to me,” she said matter of factly but then looked at her long -time friend and waited. 

“I swear, I’m not,” she said, “now tell me about your new boss, is he good looking?”

Lily knew it was a call for distraction but she went along with it, she loved Andrea dearly. Perhaps at one point she had been unfair, in judging her change as selling out but that had been uncalled for. Andrea had changed, they all had. Doug had come out a few months after, she had sold out to a big profitable gallery and well Andrea had a right to find her happiness.  
She felt like Andrea was sadder since leaving Runway, that there was something amuck, something missing, that her eyes no longer sparkled and her laughter was not the same. She had heard that she was back with Nate and had hoped that would make her smile again but it had not.

She didn’t want to pry more than their reconciled friendship allowed but she was slightly worried. Andrea, her Andrea, her silly friend who could always be counted on to be kind, and joyous and optimistic felt like she was an empty shell lately. She looked at her phone often, let her control the conversation, rarely spoke of her new job and more often than not tapped her fingers over a pendant on her neck. 

“Where did you buy that necklace?” she asks after telling her about Joshua her new boss, who was every girls dream. He was tall, light brown hair and dark eyes over a light olive skin. He owned the fine art gallery but collaborated with the MET and other museums around the city. The caveat was, he was married and a player.

“Which one?” Andrea is caught off guard, she had tuned out most of what her friend was saying to replay the happening of the day.

She had been at work, she was working on a piece about summer houses in the Hamptons that could be rented. It wasn’t’ a masterpiece but the piece had flair. Her phone rang from a number that she hadn’t seen in a long time, since well before she had quit Runway. The Dalton academy was calling her, the school where Caroline and Cassidy went to school. She had picked them up a few times, once when she in a rush she had given them her personal number instead of the work one. They had never called, until now. She hesitated.

“Hello,” she said softly into the speaker as if the person on the other side was dangerous.

“Andrea Sachs,” the voice, a perky female version, questions. 

“Yes,”

“We have you listed as secondary emergency contact for Caroline Priestly, we called Mrs. Priestly but had no response. Caroline is in her way to Lenox Hill hospital, she fainted after a respiratory attack, we need an emergency contact to meet us at the hospital, would you be able to?” 

She considers telling them no, that she can’t. She wants to tell them she is no longer Miranda’s …. Anything but she can’t.

“Yes, of course I’ll be there as soon as traffic permits,” she answers already walking out onto the elevator.

“Thank you,” the voice starts,

“I’ll contact Mr. Wintour to let him know about his daughter,” she announces.

“That will be a great help, thank you,” the voice whose name is Mrs. Parker answers and hangs off with the promise to call back as soon as she knows more.

Traffic is magnanimous that afternoon and she arrives at Lenox Hill in shorter time than she imagined. When she arrives, Caroline has already been admitted and the attending nurse tells her only that she is not stable but is getting tests. 

“Are you her next of kin?” the curly red-head asks looking Andrea up and down clearly, she doubts it.

“I am a close family friend,” she lies, “I was listed as an emergency contact.

“I understand, Miss…” she holds on for what customarily would be the introduction.

“Sachs, Andrea “

“Miss Sachs, but we may only release information to next of kin, “she insists.

“Okay, well at least she’s stable. Her father is on his way.”

“We will know more then,” she says and prances off into the end of the white lit tunnels that  
hospitals are.

By the time Miranda arrives, David Wintour and his sister have been there for over an hour. 

“What were you doing that you didn’t get the call about our daughter?” he asks not reproachful but concerned. She still looks slightly disheveled, not easy for Miranda to accomplish and thought the coffee may hide it, there was slight alcohol on her breath.

“I was at work,” she lies.

“No assistant?’ he questions.

She shakes her head, Nigel is right behind her. 

“How is she?” she asks.

“She’s stable for now, they are running tests on her lungs and heart, they don’t exactly know why she collapsed. 

“And Cassidy?” 

“She’s at home, the school dropped her off to Cara. She’s fine but worried,” David says and pats down the seat next to him for Miranda to take a seat.

“So, they called you?” she asks confused taking a seat across from him instead.

“Yes, well not the school. They had your former assistant listed as second contact?”

Nigel takes a deep breath, this can’t possibly end well. He looks over at Miranda who narrows her eyes and presses her hands together. 

“My former assistant?” she repeats. There is something akin to disbelief in her eyes, she looks over at David. He nods.  
Her sister in law chimes in, “very nice young lady, why did you fire her?”

“What assistant?” she insists still not wanted to understand what had just happened.

“Darling, the only good one you’ve had, the one that you had in Paris this last Fashion week, what was her name … Andrea,” Anna speaks with her measured words and her continental accent that annoys Miranda so.

“Andrea? Andrea Sachs? Came to the hospital while you got here?” she repeats the actions like she was explaining it to a five -year old.  
“When will we know about Caroline?” she abruptly changed the subject.  
What a fucking irony, and she didn’t have time for irony. Her daughter was lying in a hospital bed, getting tests for her heart. She was a child for gods-sake.

“In an hour or so, we can’t see her until then,” he answers and grabs the half empty cup of coffee on the wooden hospital table. 

“Would you like some coffee Miranda?” Anna asks sensing something in her peer. 

Miranda shakes her head.

“I can get you something else,” Nigel offers.

“I’m fine” she insists. For a second the air stills, four adults sit in four separate couches around a wooden table as if they were kids around a campfire. Each held prisoner by their own worries, their own demons. To the right is David, wondering how and when he made it off the emergency contact list of his own daughters. When had he become a secondary figure, he swore that it would never happen. Their divorce should not weight on their children, but then Miranda had remarried, he had stopped coming every weekend and then he was suddenly here.  
To his right was his eldest sister Anna, queen of yet another fashion empire. Editor in Chief of Vogue, shaped of lives and dreams and fashion. She too was divorced, she too had two daughters, older than Caroline but she worried about them none the less. She felt for her brother, she knew he still loved Miranda even though she liked his new wife better. Miranda and her had been best friends at some point, that was how David met her. The divorce had separated both families, and although they tried not to let it be, their successful careers had nailed the last coffin. 

Sitting right after Anna was Miranda herself, looking down at her heels, trying to keep composure at the fear she felt for her daughter being ill, for the outcome, for the guilt of not being there for her children. And even though she should not let it get to her at this time, the disillusion that Andrea had left before she arrived. Why didn’t Andrea call her?

The last one was Nigel, still reeling over the conversation with his boss. Still thinking about the sadness Miranda must feel, one he understood all too well. Love was painful, waiting for someone to call you, to text you, to accept you, waiting, waiting that was what drove people mad. Waiting for them to remember you, to make you feel special, waiting for them to be brave enough to face the world with you. He indivertibly shook his head.

“Nonsense,” Anna voices breaking their thoughts

“I think we all need more coffee, come on Miranda help me,” she gets up and extends a hand at her former friend and sister in law. Miranda hesitates, she hates when Anna does that as if she could control her. At one point maybe Miranda thought highly of her, but now they were equals, both as successful. One could say, runway was an even bigger publication but that was petty to say.  
She takes the hand and walks in tandem with the other short haired woman. 

“why are you here?” she asks. 

“My nice is in the hospital, what kind of question is that?” Anna shakes her head.

“You never even call them,” comes a full reproach from Miranda.

“You’re right … but I still love them.”

Fair enough, Miranda never called her nieces in law either, the street ran both ways. She knows. 

“Now, cut the bullshit and tell me what’s wrong?” she asks as soon as they get to the coffee cart.

“What do you mean” Miranda asks, “two lattes, no foam, extra shot, extra hot.”

“You may still know my coffee order, but I know you just the same. I could see the hurt wash all over your face as soon as I mentioned Andrea… tell me, tell me what happened?”

** 

“Andy are you listening to me?” Lily asks again.

“Yes, sorry I was thinking about earlier today.

“what happened,” 

“just work,” she lies.

“I asked you about the necklace.

“Oh, I didn’t buy it, it was a gift.”

“A gift? From Nate?” she smirks. 

“No, from … someone else.”

“Are you trying not to tell me?”

“Just a family friend, nothing for you to get dirty minded over,” she jokes and Lily smiles.  
Again, she lets Andy go, but she knows there is more to all this story. 

“Do you still love Nate?” she asks dark eyes suddenly looking across the table at her brunette friend and waiting. 

Andrea breathes in and shrugs, long brown hair moving up and down as her shoulders track the same path. “I’m not sure,” she says and Lily nods. No surprise there.

 **

“I’m not sure,” Miranda shrugs and the dark shawl with gold strands falls off her shoulder slightly.

“That is the first time, I’ve ever heard you say that,” Anna comments. “the great Miranda Priestly with no plan.”

“I don’t have all the answers, Anna. I never did, if you hadn’t left you would know that,” Miranda answers melancholy and takes a sip of the just handed coffee.

Anna looks down, “so you’re just giving up?”

“My daughter is lying on a hospital bed, because I was busy not giving up? I don’t have time for this …. My only priority is and should always have been my daughters and my career,” she looks up defiant and her professional rival.

“I think it’s time for us to go back, Nigel and David need some coffee too,” Anna says and Miranda follows.


	6. Callback

Yes, Andrea told herself that she loved Nate, that she would be happy with him. She didn’t have to try hard, he was the kind of guy any girl would want. Yes, he could be selfish at times but he had changed and his kind, beautiful eyes shone as she had nodded. His sloppy curls framed his perfect jawline. He was smart and quiet and caring.   
A big part of her could see herself with him years down the road, in a house somewhere in the country with two kids and a dog. She knew they fit, and he loved her. She loved him too, she cared for him. But something had changed at Runway and she could not figure out why she saw Miranda they moment he kissed her. Why she thought of her smile, the short curt one she had started to give her and the longing stare as she sauntered away from the office. She saw pale hands roaming her body and silver hair on the pillow next to her.  
“Andy?” He questioned as her lips had stilled and her breath stopped.  
She came back to him, large eyes confused like deer before they meet their death.   
“I was thinking of us,” she lies and he is satisfied with the lie. There he was selfish and she was a liar. They were even.  
.  
They don’t set a finite date but they agree on six months.  
“Six months?” Her mother asks what kind of time is that, we won’t have time to plan.”  
.  
“You sound like Cary Grant in An Affair to Remember,” Doug comments.  
It wasn’t that he didn’t like Nate, in fact Nate had been his friend first before he met Andrea. Nate had class with Doug, American History and Doug was Andy’s childhood friend. They had decided together to move to New York and leave the rolling plains of Ohio behind.  
He loved Nate, mostly because he fed him, but Andrea and him were almost like siblings.   
“I’ve never seen that movie,” she smirks back.  
Her blue eyed friend shakes his head, “you should, Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr fall in love,” he pauses and gets up for dramatic flair.  
“On an ocean liner in few days, but they are both engaged. Cary Grant tells his fiancée that they will marry in six months mostly to buy time, “ Andrea looks at him confused but she knows he’s trying to get her to talk.  
“They never marry,” he finishes.  
“But I will marry Nate,” she repeats loud as if she needed confirmation herself.  
“I’m sure you will, not like you’ve been having affairs, ... or have you?”  
She shakes her head.   
“You don’t trust me now?”  
“I trust you,” she whispers.  
“I still haven’t told your mom you broke that china base she loved,” he challenges. A real peal of laughter escapes from him.  
“You better never,”  
“Scouts honor,” he comments and crosses his heart.  
“Now tell me,” he urges.  
Andrea looks at her old time friend, her confident of yore. She was the first to know when he decided to come out, she knew he had failed his first semester in college and the $500 he had gambled that he lied about.   
She takes a deep breath and tears without her knowing tumble out, “I fucked Miranda Priestly, In Paris.”  
He gasps slightly but is not surprised.   
“And, you fell in love with your controlling boss?”   
She nods.  
“But I am never telling anyone, I am marrying Nate and I never want to talk about this again, do you understand me?” She stares him down with dignified grace behind wet lashes, she looked just like Miranda.   
“I promise,” he says defeated and smiles.  
“I’m going to be your man of honor right?”  
She laughs slightly and nods.   
“Of course.”  
.  
Despite what her mother said about not enough time to plan, within a month Andy’s inbox is inundated with wedding ideas from her mother and she keeps calling to schedule appointments and ask about a date.  
“When will you two set a date? It’s 5 months down,” she screams exited into the phone.   
“It will be in Ohio right? It’s cheaper,” Mrs. sachs reasons and Andrea does not know.  
What she does know as she sits there in her New York cubicle with a can of soda that Miranda would disapprove of is that she’s been incredibly ungrateful to the famous editor and uncaring to Caroline and Cassidy. She knows that all this planning makes her feel like a deep dark hole and she’s sure that’s not what getting married should feel like.  
.  
She forces herself to pick a venue to visit and a few bakeries and tells Nate they need to go to Ohio for all of this. His expected reply is right on target, “of course babe.”  
The dress she will buy here in New York with Lily and Doug. She doesn’t want to think about catering or decorators or photography yet, one thing at a time.  
.  
Once she’s done she decides that the date should be after Thanksgiving, to give thanks for all the blessings in her life. He agrees and as soon as she hangs up she feels like a fraud talking about blessings.  
.  
She calls David Wintour, he gave her his number at the hospital. His assistant answers, he’s off this week. However any family affairs are being handled by his sister, would she like to leave a message?  
.  
“Get me some coffee,” the light haired editor comments offhand and sits to look at her assistant’s notes.

Demarchelier called,  
Banana Republic wants a meeting   
Editorial sent over ideas  
Andrea Sachs called  
...

She pauses her index finger lingering over the name. The other hand adjusts her glasses and she breathes in. She knows she should not, it isn’t her story anymore. Miranda didn’t give her a sliver of information, a solid wall. She bites her lip, the coffee turns up steaming cup of coffee, she wasn’t sure. She was not completely sure but she still knew Miranda. The way her face fell when she realized Andrea had left.  
It could not be just as an assistant, the darkness fell out of her blue eyes, leaving a hallow ice glare. Her lips trembled and thought she masked it, there was sadness. Then the talk, she had never heard Miranda say she didn’t know. Anna shook her head as if she was having a conversation with herself. And how would she not know what happened with her own assistant?  
.  
“Call Andrea Sachs back, .... transfer her to me.”  
The dark haired thin woman nods and basically runs to the phone.  
“Andrea?” The cool and defined voice of Anna fills the speaker.  
“Miss Wintour I wasn’t expecting for you to call me back,” the truth is Andrea had called and then wished she hadn’t. She was extremely relieved when the number was not a direct line. She was sure that Anna like Miranda would never call her back. But now, here she was.  
“That is either an insult to me or yourself,” she drops in an icy tone just like Miranda would have done.  
“I would ne...” she’s about to explain but is cut off.  
“One should always expect a call back to be successful,” the editor finishes.  
“Right,” Andrea stops before she continues digging her own grave.  
“You seemed to inquire about my niece?” she asks.  
Andrea nods.  
“Andrea?”  
She had forgotten that she was on the phone, “yes, that’s right Miss Wintour. I just wanted to know how she was.”  
“Call me Anna,” she sais.  
Andrea can see the similarities, like two parallel lines that never intersect, except that they do. They did.   
“That is correct Anna,” Andrea repeats.  
“Why did you leave so hurried?”  
Andrea is not sure where the question is going, she feels like she has known the famous editor for a long time. It is almost the opposite of Miranda, she feels almost nice.  
“I felt bad leaving so fast, I had to go back to work.”  
Anna examines the veracity of that alibi. A reporter working on lifestyle at the New York times is not likely to be desk bound. Theodore at the New Yorker was the lifestyle editor, he would know. She could namedrop.  
“How is Theodore?” She asks out of context and Andrea recognizes it for what it is, Blackmail.  
The young reporter now wonders what Anna wants to know. There was no possible way Miranda would have told her.  
“My nice is better Ms. Sachs, she left the hospital a week later. A heart murmur that must be watched but she’s safe for now.”  
Andrea breathes relieved.   
“That is amazing news, I’m sure she’ll have the best care.  
They pause. Anna wonders if she could push the envelope and then she wonders why she wants to know. It’s not like she will play matchmaker. She could.   
“Well Anna, I am sure you are busy. Thank you so much fo....”  
Again the older woman cuts her off, “I am never busy for someone who helps my family, Andrea. What I want to know is why not call Miranda herself?”  
“I ... I didn’t want to bother,” she says.  
“But you called me?”  
“You gave me your card,” she says defensively.  
“I did indeed,” she says.  
Again they lull. Andrea finds this strange, she’s on the phone with Anna Wintour editor extraordinaire. A legend of the fashion world, and the lady seems to want to keep her on the phone.  
“I’ll tell Miranda you called,” she drops, “goodbye An..”  
“No!” Now it’s Andrea’s turn to interrupt.  
“No?”  
“I don’t think she will care,” Andrea tries to disguise her outburst.  
“I think she will, have a great day Andréa, feel Free to call me anytime.”  
Before Andrea can interrupt again the editor hangs up.  
The following days Andrea trudges through traffic, through dinner, through nights with her fiancé fearing that Miranda would call her. And after two weeks when she doesn’t, she realizes it wasn’t fear, it was hope. Hope that Miranda would try again.


	7. The Dress

She reconsiders, this really isn’t her battle and the balance with Miranda is so delicate. There is David and the twins, and Caroline’s heart murmur. She wants to spend time with her only nieces and she shouldn’t go where she isn’t called. She wouldn’t do it professionally what makes her want to do it now?  
Anna shakes her head, another conversation with herself.  
“You’re deep in thought, a reshoot?” Alina the head of the art department asks. One could say Alina was the closest Anna had to a confidant. They were not friends by any measure but somewhere between the years, the fashion weeks, the traveling Anna had drank too much and they had become their secret keepers.

Anna looks up, Alina is far younger than the editor, she’s probably 33, short spiky hair and perfectly poised black ensemble with an Hermes scarf. She’s got gree emerald eyes and has been married to Gerry from marketing for five years, they have two kids and a Poodle.  
.  
“I need your opinion,”she says.  
“Tell me,”Alina asks and sits without permission.  
“I have an old friend, who is like family but we haven’t talked much. This friend is, I think, heartbroken for someone who I think pines for them also. The later called to ask about the first. Should I tell the old friend?”  
.  
Alina raises her eyebrows and laughs.  
“Sounds like a murder mistery,”she smiles.  
“Just forget it,” Anna waves her hand.  
“Will it make a difference?” The green eyed director asks.  
Anna shrugs, “it could? It could not.”  
“Leave it then, if it’s meant to be it will be.”  
Anna nods and the younger woman leaves taking a candy from a container near by.  
“ Get me Mirada at Runway,” she yells softly across the office and whatever assistant was standing outside scrambles to the phone.  
.  
“Miranda, it’s..” she starts but is cut off by the other woman.  
“I know who you are, what can I help you with?”  
The curt response doesn’t deter the rivaling editor, “ I was hoping to come down to see the girls tomorrow?”  
“Anna you can come anytime,” Miranda says in a softer voice that makes Anna smile.  
“Thank you.”  
.

The dress is a revelation, it is beautiful as it is simple. There are thin lines of lace running down the sides, from the inseam to the bottom of the dress. They are keeping a delicate balance between the shimery smooth fabric that is the rest of the dress. It fits Andrea like a glove gliding down her toned body like silk being cut by a sable. The dress has no large skirt or frills, it is a mermaid cut, with a low back and a plunging neckline. Andrea stares at herself in the mirror, the length of her hair falling in waves down to past her shoulders. She can’t help but smile, and her breath catches and she sees Nate next to her, she can imagine him down the isle and she nods. This was what she always wanted, this since she met Nate.  
“Do you love it?” Doug asks from behind the curtain and she whispers.  
“Yes, I love it.”  
.  
“You look different Andy,” Lily asks her over dinner and the brown haired journalist nods.  
“I feel different, I just love the dress and suddenly it all clicks. We still have a few details to finish and I can’t wait to fly to Ohio and book them. I can’t wait to start a life with Nate.”  
“Will you leave the newspaper?”  
Andrea automatically shakes her head, “never but he knows that now. I actually really like lifestyle, it’s calmer and I can spend more time with him.”  
Lily smiles, she searches her friend’s eyes and wonders what happened from their last conversation but does not ask again.  
.


	8. Salt Water and coffee

Miranda has seen the ocean in every longitude and latitude, on opposite coasts and different continents. She has seen the crystal -clear waters that shine like tinted mirrors in the sun, and the murky waters filled with seaweed that reaches out for air. She has seen the slightly ravaged - coastlines of tourist filled beaches and the quiet solitude that comes from waking up in the middle of the ocean. She has seen grandiose sunrises over London’s frosty shores, waking up the wind and painting magnificent colors in the sky. She has seen decadent sunsets over emerald green waters that dripped with glory and a sense of warmth. She was seen the frosted oceans of the North and felt the tepid sand beneath her feet of South America. She has seen the quiet ocean at night, become darkness from 30,000 feet above international waters. She was seen it turn to rivers and cascade into lakes. She loves the ocean, there is something primal that calls to her and yet one can say it is a symbol of sophistication. Vain and proud the ocean stood alone and never bent the knee for anyone. It had been called a deity of ancient times, a place filled with wonder and terror that humans could not understand.   
When it is on its best behavior is shimmers like expensive diamonds, like crown jewels for all to see; yet, if it angers it a monster that no one can control. It is a juxtaposition filled with glory. She had seen the ocean all over the world, and yet she had to admit that the boardwalk near Jersey, old and grimy was her favorite. The ocean here was blue with a shade of grey. It was filled with working class people that came for different reasons. Some to work, some for the docks, some to stare at the only infinity they could.   
She liked to come out here when the world didn’t make sense, when something was bothering her, when she wanted to be alone and away from reality. Here people ignored her, she was just one more lady walking the boardwalk. One more person in a trench coat and a scarf. What amazed her the most was that even though the ocean here was contaminated by the excess of humanity it still shone with the rays of the sun, and that dusk was just as spectacular as it was in the South of France, the colors were as rare and beautiful as if they were being hand-painted for her viewing pleasure by a master artist. Here the darkness rolled out slowly too, deepening the reds into ambers and the yellows into burnt oranges. The colors mingled and mixed they became rich burgundies and dreamy blues.   
When she was here the chill of the Atlantic prevented her tears from coming, and instead the sadness or the worry, of whatever was happening erupted inside. In her left-hand she had a crumbled piece of newspaper, she had driven with it all the way. Her assistant no doubt confused when she had asked for her Porsche to be brought over to Elias-Clark and left for her. 

“Would you like Roy to pick you up?” the girl had asked.   
Miranda had shaken her head, “I know how to drive.”

And that had been that. The paper in its printed black and white explendor was torn from the New York Time’s lifestyle section. It was first laid down gently on the glass desk, porcelain hands smooth it over as she reads it one more time. It is a review piece laced with how-to bits. Andrea reviews wedding dress shops, and talks about her wedding plans for the coming month.   
Instinctively she crumbles the paper in her hand, because now she’s upset. At first, she was heartbroken that Andrea didn’t want to marry her, but there was nothing she could do. She could not force Andrea to love her and she had accepted that. It hurt but she had accepted it; but this was different. She was mad that Andrea had chosen to go back to the same man she had left before. The same entitled, sexist, cook who hadn’t understood her career growth in the first place. Miranda had a to take a deep breath and let her head fall for a moment. The weight of a thousand years felt on her, and she could not let the tears fall. She took the keys handed to her and exited the building without a single word to her assistants. They were baffled, they didn’t know if she was coming back, if she was done for the day, if they needed to do something in the meantime, and what to do with the meetings with Vogue?

Out on the docks peace entered. She bought a latte and walked. She had taken of her heels and opted for flats. They made her smile and think of an easier time, when life was simple and she would walk the docks with Nigel and other people she used to know. Simple people, kind people before she had been absorbed by fame and duties. She wasn’t sure how much time she had been sitting on the dirty bench by the end of the boardwalk, it was dark cherry wood with white spots from where the birds marked their territory. Her coffee had cooled of and she had discarded it along with her need to understand time. 

She must have been completely mesmerized by her own thoughts that she failed to hear the clack of stilettos on the wooden boards. The warm body hands her a cup of coffee in a black cup. Miranda takes it and looks across to meet a smile.   
“You know how much the reporters hound us, if they knew how easy it was to find us here together, in the dirty gritty ports of New York with the best cup of coffee in the city they would die,” Anna says and Miranda seems to lose her tense and relax.   
“It is the best in the city, Starbucks be dammed.”  
Michel’s coffee shop near the water sold the best coffee in the city, it was also the best secret. They used to come here when they were young and reckless before they were famous, before they were married before the world knew their name.   
“I can’t believe you remember,” Miranda pauses melancholy to sip and Anna turns her body toward her rival editor, “Miranda I remember everything about our friendship, you were my best friend, my sister, and my conscience. I always cherish those memories,” she extends her hand across the bench. It’s an olive branch for a war never fought.  
Miranda takes it and they pause in mutual remembrance of that friendship they shared.  
“So, what brings you here today?” Mirada breaks the silence.  
Anna raised an eyebrow in much the same manner that Miranda does. She runs her free hand through her hair bob and shrugs, “the coffee I told you.”  
It’s said off hand, like it was true.   
Miranda laughs followed by Anna.  
“No, seriously,” the Runway editor insists.  
“I got it for free, you know? He remembered me,” she smiles and Miranda smiles back.   
She turns to look at the water.  
“How did you know I’d be here?”  
“I saw the news article,” Anna starts.  
“What news article?”  
The brown -haired woman ignores her counterpart and continues, “I called your office and they said you were not in. Where else could you go for quietude in the middle of the day? We used to come here so much.”

Miranda nods, “why ...” she turns, “why did you call my office?”  
“Miranda the article about Andrea? She’s getting married?”  
Miranda turns sharply as if her innermost secret has been discovered, her eyes dagger into Anna.  
“I know, Miranda you forget I know you better than anybody. You love her,” she voices.  
Miranda opens her mouth to say something but is shut down by Anna’s hand softly on hers, “don’t you dare lie to me Mirada Priestly!”  
Miranda nods, “she’ll be happy with him.”  
Anna sits there in silence, she didn’t say something back when Andrea had called her. She didn’t think it was her territory to say it. It still isn’t but she has made up her mind.

“Andrea called me,” she pauses.  
Miranda turns sharply and tilts her head waiting for an explanation.  
“Today?”  
Anna shakes her head, they both sip their coffee, “after the hospital. She called to check up on the girls, and to apologize for leaving.”  
Miranda’s face fell slightly, “that’s kind of her.”  
“it was, but what I found peculiar was how defensive she got when I told her I’d tell you. It was as if she was trying to avoid you, running away from that which one knows we love.”  
Miranda shakes her head, “this is theoretical Anna. If I loved her, this would matter. I don’t. It was …”  
Anna raises an eyebrow. The wind picks up, brushes past them moving their immaculate hairstyles.   
“an affair,” she finishes.  
“you’re lying to me,” Anna purses her lips.  
“I am not, that’s beside the point,” Miranda sounds irritated.  
Anna doesn’t care, Miranda holds nothing over her, they are as powerful and as hurt.  
“I should never have taken a side with the divorce, I didn’t mean to. It just happened, then Vogue happened, we were so successful, it seemed as if we didn’t need each other. And I hurt you. I know you love her, you can’t lie to me. I knew the moment you showed up at my office that you were asking David for a divorce. I knew all those years back, I know now. She loves you too.”  
“What do I do, fly out to Ohio and interrupt a wedding? “  
“Why not?” Anna winks


	9. Fire at Night

The days between the dress fitting and the final date fly about. They are just like the blink of an eye, one day she’s standing in the newsroom and the other she’s in her mother’s living room checking the places on the tables for the ceremony. It will be in church, the church she grew up in and all her childhood friends will be there. She’s been catching up with a few, not that she missed them much but it was nice to know people at home remembered.  
Doug and Lilly were set to arrive three days before the wedding and Nate would come a week before. She had taken off two weeks to check all the details and spend time with her parent’s.  
They had decided on a simple honey moon to Boston, a few idle days and a complete remodel of the condo Nate had bought.  
“I want to add an island in the kitchen,” he had said smiling and she had shaken her head.  
“I don’t think that would even fit, babe,” she says into his kiss.

“I think white roses and freesias would make a wonderful combination,” her mother voices as they walk the tiny isles of flowers.  
Andrea snorts, she looks at the freesias in front of her and shakes her head.  
“Not freesias,” she states and her brown eyes twinkle.  
She can’t say she hasn’t thought about Miranda, she had laid awake the night of the dress fitting and wondered if Miranda would approve of the dress, the shoes, the bridesmaids?  
She wondered if pistachio and chocolate would be something the diva considered suitable, she asked herself if the room would be elegant enough for her, and if the caterer would be posh enough.  
They were silly questions, she knew. Miranda did not care about how she planned her wedding. She was sure that sultry, wedding proposal was forgotten by now.  
“It was just sex,” she often told herself.  
She believed it for herself, power crush; but did she believe it for Miranda?  
What would happen if she told Nate, of her mother, even Lilly?

As soon as they passed customs and Andrea could see them she ran to hug them. Her two best friends had to be here for the wedding.  
“I’m so glad you’re here!” she exclaims  
“We are too darling,” Doug smiles and hands her a bottle of whiskey.  
“What is this?”  
“Um bachelorette party, duh?” he says as if they had missed an important detail.  
“Oh, we’re not having one, we are just having a fun dinner with everyone,” Andrea explains.  
“No, you don’t understand, Lily and I have already planned one. Just us if you so want at a strip club, we’re doing this the right way or you’re not getting married,” Doug states firmly and Andrea nods.  
“Okay,” she shrugs and they walk out to the car talking about everything and nothing.  
I think we should take shots,” Lily states that night as they sit in the dark backyard of Andrea’s family home.  
The four -bedroom house was large and simple. It has a tan living room with sleek vases and flowers that match the wall. The bedrooms overlook the massive backyard that leads into the woods. They sit at the far right end of that yard, in darkness aside from the fire that burnt in front of them.  
Lilly has brought a bottle of Grey Goose vodka, and three glasses.  
“For Andrea and Nate,” she toasts and they all drink making a face as it goes down.  
“Ugh, haven’t done that in a while,” Doug states.

He grabs the bottle and pours again, “for friendship.’  
“For friendship,” they repeat loudly, feeling the burn of vodka in their blood.

“And for love,” he says pouring one more round

Andrea’s cheeks flush, she drinks it and shakes her head trying to dissipate the fog that is creeping in.

“I think three is the limit for me,” Lily laughs and closes her eyes tightly. The room seems to spin for a moment and then it doesn’t. 

“I think we should have one more, Andy hasn’t made a toast,” Doug says again.

Andrea shakes her head but the drinks are poured, she feels the confusing of the liquor in her. She takes a deep breath, “fine … for us who left Ohio.”

That brings a mild cheer from all three of them and they shoot the drink back. 

They sit idly for a moment, hearing the crisp of the fire and the lull of the night.

It’s Andrea this time who pours another round, this time it’s full and leaves no room for sobriety, “To doing the right thing.”

Her toast earns a look from Lily who chugs the drink, “ugh” she spits as the liquid goes down.

“I always do the right thing,” Andrea slurs, “Nate and I, we are right? Right?”

Doug nods, “I would hope so. That is a strange question to ask three days before you get married.”

“It is” Andrea nods “I just have to be sure. Sure, that I’m doing what I should be doing.”

“You should be not doing anything, this is not a should kind of thing,” Lily clarifies, scooting over to her long -time friends she almost whispers. “Andrea who gave you that necklace?”

Lily refers to the necklace she hasn’t taken off since Miranda gave to her, the one that she’s holding on to with her thumb and forefinger.

“Miranda,” she whispers into the wind.

Doug takes a deep breath and looks at the embers on the floor. 

“Why do I know the words that follow that confession?” Doug asks and Andrea rolls her eyes to best of her ability.

“Because you do, I still love her,” she says to both her friends though only one completely understands.


	10. The Honeymoon Visit

It’s messy like wars being fought on other lands. It’s bitter like the frost in the dead of winter. It’s keeping them awake at night and asleep in the day, like treason, like decision made on drunken stupors. It is definitely more than they bargained for.

Miranda can’t bring herself to show up without an invitation, without a word, without a hint that Andrea would even speak to her. She’s too old for that. She shows up to work the next day, and the day after that and whole week. She shows up to work the day of the wedding like she’s been doing for the past twenty something years of her life. She shows up with her impeccable style and her character intact. Nigel looks at her from across the table at morning meeting, she half smiles at him. 

“There better be a good explanation as to why you’re not in Ohio,” is the greeting given when Anna calls.

Miranda scoffs, “there is nothing to do in Ohio, why would I be there. Did I forget a model shoot or something?” 

It’s a good counter argument, one that Wintour herself can admire. 

“Don’t give me that shit,” Anna rolls her eyes even though Miranda can’t see her. 

“Ah, it’s so refreshing to have you back as a friend, can’t imagine why we ever stopped talking,” Miranda says sarcastically.

“I am coming over in a little bit, I am picking you up for dinner and we will discuss this further. No excuses, I’m calling my driver right now,” Anna says and hangs up.

There is no room for argument not that Miranda would have made any. Even though she’s put her best face on, she’s sad and she could use company. She knows Anna won’t try to console her, or comfort her, she’s not sentimental in that way. That is why they were friends, they are similar in character, in drive, in ambition. 

She closes her laptop and takes a deep sigh. It’s almost five, the wedding should be starting.   
“Coat, bag, “ she demands but the assistant already has it ready for her and she walks into the elevator and out the doors to meet Anna’s elegant BMW pull up and the driver open the door.

“I need a drink,” she confesses and Anna hands her a tumbler with whiskey already in it.   
“I know,” she says and her tone is almost sad.

.

Andrea needs a drink too, she asks Lily for one as the last touches are being made to her hair.   
Nate is waiting for her at the altar. Sheer lace and rose perfume permeate the air and all she can think of is how badly she needs a drink.  
Lilly comes to the rescue, with Bourbon and ice. Plain and neat, it burns down and makes her cough, she pours one more in spite of her best friends look at her. 

“Andrea, you don’t have to do this,” she says.

“I have no idea what you’re taking about, I have dreamed about this forever,” she says and she has. She’s in a weird spot convincing herself that what she wanted years ago is still what she wants now and loving Miranda in the back of her mind.

“I do,” she finds herself saying in a haze of white tulips lined along the hallowed church isle and cheers of the people she values the most as they throw flower petals at her and her newly minted husband. 

She is going to forever remember this day, the day she overdrank on her wedding night passed out a few hours after saying I do. The short honeymoon they have decided upon goes on without a hitch, she’s the perfect wife and he does not mention that he heard her crying on their wedding night. 

Boston is light and airy, and they tour all the historic sites like they have never seen them before. There is the harbor and the cobble lined streets, the streets teaming with souvenir shops and the European tourists with their accents and their fair faced smiles. She smiles and poses and after the first day forgets how strange this all is. She enjoys Nate, she always has. He’s funny and caring, albeit selfish at times but he sincerely loves her and she believes she could make this work. Until it rains, it pours as they are walking to the hotel room on their last day, she’s tired from walking and she’s had one more cocktail than she should have.   
He wants to go to one more place, she’s livid.   
“I’m going to the fucking room,” she announces loudly enough for the whole lobby to hear and then whatever else she was going to say dies on her lips as she pales and sees Miranda staring back at her, she’s leaning on a lobby chaise, in black slacks and a white cashmere sweater. The look on her face is impeccable as ever, she’s raising an eyebrow like she was about to request something be done from the runway staff. She’s got high heels on that look like they would break at any moments and yet she’s standing perfectly still. If you weren’t looking you could almost miss her, Andrea would never miss her. She takes a deep breath and her brain shuts off, it doesn’t know what to do or say or how to move. 

“Andr-ea,” she drops the word from her lips, drawled out and slowly in her continental perfected accent that sends chills down her body and her eyes temper between a wild look and fear. She’s afraid that every emotion she’s been fighting to hide will outpour, outpour in front of Miranda. Somehow, she’s forgotten about Nate who had trotted off by himself to see whatever attraction he was a fan of. 

“Mi …. Miranda, what a coincidence,” she states but her words sound like a question.

“I don’t consider planned actions to be coincidence, do you?” she asks and straightens her stance. She sets one foot forward, she looks like she’s going to approach Andrea.

The younger brunette knows that it’s not a good idea, but she can’t move or take a step back. She’s rooted to the spot where she saw Miranda. 

“You came to see me?” she finally manages to construct a sentence and Miranda smiles nodding softly as she keeps approaching her former assistant.

“I came to congratulate you,” she whispers but it doesn’t sound like she’s going to congratulate anyone, it sounds husky and sexy and with a sad tone. 

“on… on what?” Andrea stammers, Miranda is dangerously close.

“On your wedding of course, isn’t that a cause for celebration?” she continues, she’s only a breath away now. Andrea can see the ice blue of her eyes. 

“uh –huh,” she nods brown curls bouncing up and down. 

It’s then that Miranda notices the necklace, the pendant that she had given the younger woman. Andrea knows it the instant that blue eyes search down her neck. They linger in silence for a moment and then Miranda raises her eyes slowly, cascade of lashes making the moment a straight shot from a romance novel. 

“Well, then I must take you out to dinner to celebrate, with your husband of course,” she adds and lets the gravity of that statement fall upon us.

“I … that’s not necessary,” Andrea adds. “We are leaving tomorrow, I … I don’t know what time he’ll be back he went to see something.”

She feels the need to make an explanation although she could very well have told the fashion diva no, I don’t want to.” 

“All the more necessary for you to have dinner with me, you should not dine alone on your honey moon,” she smiles. 

Andrea wants to say that she should not dine with her ex-lover either but it does not seem appropriate. 

She’s about to refuse when Miranda gets one inch close and touches the pendant, it’s symbolic. Reminding Andrea of what she already knows, that she has not let go. 

“I have reservations at the Plaza, “she whispers and reaches for Andrea’s elbow, “come we can barely make it with the traffic.”  
Andrea feels a dream like quality, like she’s being transported somewhere with and without her will. She walks in tandem with the editor and although it’s pouring outside she finds two men protecting them with umbrellas and a silver SUV pulling up to meet them at the edge of the sidewalk. It’s comical people asking who they are and why all the attention.


	11. Boston Rain

“What do you want Miranda?” Andrea finally says the five words rolling out of her lips softly and landing in between their shared space in the SUV.

They had been driving for about fifteen minutes, not bad for Boston peak traffic. The sky was clearing up, though rain still caressed the car. 

“I already told you,” she feigns innocence, “to congratulate you.”

“Bullshit,” Andrea is annoyed, not at Miranda. Well not entirely. She’s annoyed at herself for being so weak and letting Miranda simply walk her out of the hotel into the car and to dinner. She’s not even dressed for the Plaza, she’s wearing dark jeans and a leather jacket and her hair is wet. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” she looks out the window, because she knows Andrea will call her lie. She’s not technically lying, she did come to congratulate her. She wanted to tell her that she was genuinely happy for her, if that was what she wanted. She was prepared to see Andrea in an ideal state, kissing Nate somewhere under the rain and that would make her happy. It would make her happy, because seeing Andrea happy was all she really wanted. That was not what had happened, instead she had found Andrea alone and slightly angry, still wearing that pendant she had given her in Paris.

“Don’t, Miranda. Don’t do it,” she reaches out and turns the editor’s face toward her.  
“You came to see if I was truly happy with Nate, if I really did love him. You came to wish me happiness on that accord. You came to find out if I still loved you. It’s not a fair play, I won’t leave Nate. We are not perfect, but we are good together and that’s all I want for my life. I don’t want true love, I don’t want passion sprawled across page six, I want simple. Do you understand that?” 

Miranda nods, “I … Fair enough Andrea. I am not asking you to leave anyone. I only want to see you happy. Do you want me to have the driver take you back?” 

Andrea is surprised to see they have arrived. She nods. Miranda nods as well. She reaches onto second row of the car and pulls out a recognizable black shopping bag. The double C’s stamped across the bag, “this is yours, in case you have another fancy dinner soon.” 

She smiles as the driver opens the door, not giving Andrea time to answer her at all.  
“Please drive Miss Roland back to the hotel,” she instructs the neatly uniformed man.

She then turns slowly to Andrea and without a warning says, “why did you call Anna and not me after the hospital?” 

Andrea is left speechless, the question is an unexpected blow.

“I don’t know,” she stammers.

“mmhh,” Miranda hums in a way that signifies she’s going to school you in something.  
“I believe it’s the same reason why you still have that pendant on. Have a great night Andrea,” she finishes and closes the door with all the class that she holds.

Andrea feels the car start a few moments later and closes her eyes to avoid rolling down her cheeks. She’s not sure if Miranda is correct, she suspects that she is. The ride there seems shorter than the ride to Miranda’s hotel. She gets out and murmurs a thanks to the driver.  
She arrives to a still empty hotel room, the sun is falling rapidly on the horizon, the rain has cleared, the room is church silent. 

.

The nock on the door startles her, she can’t think who would come unannounced. She has been waiting all evening for nothing specific, keeping busy on her laptop and waiting for her flight the following morning. She rolls her eyes and takes of her glasses. She didn’t even bother to change from the ensemble she was wearing before, she looks impeccable and pristine. The only difference was that she had taken off her heels and now walked slowly barefooted down to open the door.  
On the other side, dressed in black Chanel and matching heels was the very person she had let go three hours ago. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes for a moment. In heels Andrea towered over her, the previous wet hair was now dry and pulled into a semi loose bun on the top of her head. She looked perfect. Miranda doesn’t say a single thing. She doesn’t open her lips because she knows silence too can be control. She simple stands there, a slight purse on her lips and her hand still on the door.

“I called and made the reservations again,” Andrea offers, “they didn’t dare say no if it was for you.”

Miranda wants to chuckle but she doesn’t, she has no idea where this is going. And she not sure why she let Anna convince her to come. 

“Do you have a special dress you need to change into?” Andrea asks. Miranda’s silence is making her nervous.

“did you think of an answer for my questions?” Miranda asks point blank and Andrea looks down at the floor.

“Won’t you offer me a drink?” Andrea asks buying time. She had anticipated that the editor would ask something like that. She had a speech, but here in front of piercing blue eyes, and pale light skin that stood before her, she could not remember a single word.

“I don’t have anything in my room,” Miranda counters. Her tone is the stark opposite from earlier and Andrea does not know how to respond.  
“I was afraid.” 

“Of what?” Miranda asks not sure what question is being answered. She’s still standing by the door and Andrea is still standing in the hall. Power play in all capital letters.

“I was afraid that if I called you, I would end up telling you how much I was missing you. I was afraid that I would not have enough resolve to say no twice.”

Miranda’s gaze does not change, “what makes you think I would have asked you the same question twice?”

“I .. Nothing… I just … I don’t know.”

“Mmhh…” 

“Did you wear that to the wedding?’ she asks about the pendant. Andrea meets her eyes, they dance to a non-existent music. She nods and reaches for Miranda’s free hand. 

“Why are you really here?” the young brunette asks. 

Miranda walks in the room to get her heels and then let's the door slam behind her, "I'll tell you over dinner.”

A slight smile lights up the brunette’s face and they ride the elevator down in silence.

“Miss Priestly,” the attendant nods and takes them to a reserved table.

Over heavy oaked wine and tomato appetizers Miranda’s gaze trails over the bare shoulders of the lifestyle journalist. 

“Why did you say no in Paris?” Miranda asks.

“That’s not fair, I’ve answered all your questions and you haven’t answered mine,” Andrea protests.

“I don’t play fair Andrea, I’m entitled not to. I have put my heart on the line for you first and lastly today and you have never been honest with me. I think I deserve to ask the questions here,” the explanation is definitive but it’s also an ultimatum. Andrea can take it or leave.

“Okay,” she pauses enough as the waiter arrives and they order two steaks in sherry wine reduction.

“I said no because being with you is overwhelming, I had never felt so much for someone, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to shoulder the fame, the lifestyle., everything. I’m a simple girl from Ohio Miranda. I grew up in a Midwest suburb, I went to college defending human rights and eating cheap pizza at midnight. Suddenly I was put in this amazing, glamorous job and when I was finally fitting in, I do the thing that makes me stand out the most. I fall for you and to top it off, you somehow seemed to love me. I was too good, too much and I was afraid that you’d tire of me,” she explains hurriedly and with sips of wine. 

“Fair enough,” Miranda says and they finish their glass of wine in silence. There is a long pause, they talk about the wine, and about the twins. 

“Is she doing good?’ Andrea asks of the twin she had taken to the hospital.

Miranda nods, “she is. She is still home, but she’s doing all her school work and the diagnosis seems stable for now.”

The conversation dulls as the steak is halfway done, somehow the sky outside has gotten pitch black and it has started to rain again. It is loud crashing rain against the glass panes of the restaurant. It hails and a few people gasp.

“I came to make you choose me,” Miranda suddenly throws out and Andrea feels her heart drop and flutter at the same time. She feels tingles and desire and a smile shows up against, even though she knows she should not. That if she tells Miranda the truth, it will be the start of the end, it will bring by a whole new wave of problems and it will be admitting that just a few days ago she made a huge mistake.

“Are you?” she asks and the strong dragon of a few minutes ago seems vulnerable and expectant.

Andrea swallows.

“Are you going to? Is that what this means?”

She wants to say no, she wants to say that she felt lonely and she wanted to be polite and she loved the dress. She wants to but she can’t. She finds herself nodding and saying, “It has always been you, Miranda.”


	12. The Other Woman

The words don’t mean unconditional surrender by any means, they mean a battle to be waged. Both women know it, though both imagine different battles in their minds.  
They sip the new glass of wine and it is Miranda who speaks up first, “what now?”

Andrea shakes her head but she proceeds to get up from the table and as Miranda follows, she reaches out for the editor’s hand. A few head turn, not everyone is paying attention but everyone knows who Miranda is.   
The steps to the elevator and to the room are full of pregnant anticipation, their breaths slow and their heartbeats pound noisily against their chests.

Miranda closes the door and leans against he grey hotel door, her dress suit contrasts against the lead outline and Andrea stands there a few feet away with all the expectations in the world.   
Suddenly all the assurance they both had disappears and vulnerability uncommon in both of them fills them. 

Andrea unzips the side of her dress, revealing nothing but vastness of smooth skin, the hitch in Miranda’s breath is audible. Her mind stumbles to register what is about to happen. What is Andrea doesn’t think she’s beautiful, she’s much older. What is this isn’t perfect? What is they are not…

The trail of thoughts is interrupted by Andrea’s hands grazing her collarbone slightly.   
“Stop it Priestly,’ she smiles.  
“What?” the question comes as a reproach.

“I love you, I want you and … that’s all.”

For that night nothing else is said, Andrea undresses Miranda as careful as a school girl changes her first doll and the silver haired editor lets her because she is hopelessly in love. The night seems perfect, they should stay here in this room forever. For that night neither thinks of the hell that will await them the following morning. They put their battles aside, and Miranda forgets that she’s the ‘other woman’.   
In the shelter of that night Andrea forgets about Nate and what he must be thinking alone with a note saying she would be back. She forgets about what will ensue when she does return, will she take the flight back with him? How does she ask for divorce less than two weeks after marriage? And she forgets about her family, about the shock and the chaos and the possible loss of her parents.  
She doesn’t want to think about it now, not while Miranda is whispering he name so close to her ear.

Miranda does not wish to think about the press, the hungry press that will want to eat them alive. The ex-assistant, the younger woman, the gold digger, she can see all of it. She can read the headlines splashes across page six. She does not want to think about what she will tell the girls and David and Irv. She has Anna by her side and that provides consolation of some sort but she knows a storm is coming, yet, she doesn’t care.


	13. Don't leave, I need you

There are times when there are no clear lines on the sand, whatever you do will be messy and bloody and it will hurt like hell. The two divergent paths will tear you apart, and no choice will seem right in the end. It will be a lonely compromise, one you make with yourself and no one else. A dark pact that you make in secret and with regrets, whatever you choose there will be something left out and someone hurt. That is just the way life goes. I  
Loyalties are tested and cast aside, and oh what a tragedy it becomes. There are no rights or wrongs here, no moral ground to stand high and might on, only the possibility of happiness. And when you’ve chosen, you stand alone, in a barren field. The scene is just what ever battle scene in a great war looks like. Victory bloodied, bodies lying on the ground, a flag standing upright somewhere and men going home weary and without a cause.   
There are times when you question who you are, what you’ve become and if those that say they love you even know you. You sit alone, watching a nameless movie that is making you cry. Alone in an all too large bed, wanting nothing more than an embrace from that person you love and who in all theory has caused this rift within yourself. You don’t know what part of your heart to protect, either way one will be shattered, you can hear it now. The cracks starting, creaking like old house do in an earthquake, you can see the fragments shattered on the floor like expensive, irreplaceable china that has been left to fall. What a paradox. Nothing in your life has prepared you for this.  
Andrea knows she must face the truth, she’s texted Nate and told him that she will take another day for herself, that she has changed the flight tickets and she will see him the following morning. Miranda has booked her room in the same hotel as her. Andrea asked for a week to tell Nate, Miranda agreed. Miranda would agree to handing over her fortune if it meant keeping Andrea, Miranda would agree to giving her heart. She had already given her heart, a strange feeling for the always guarded editor. She didn’t know how it had happened, but Valentino had been right, she loved the ragazza.   
Miranda too sat alone in her bed, in the same suite that just a night before had seen her make love to Andrea. She too sat alone, in an all too large bed. The same satin white sheets that covered Andrea’s bed, covered hers. The same off beige walls that surrounded her, surrounded Andrea. The monogramed pillows, the fine glass water pitcher, the same downtown water view. It was all the same, they were the same, and yet they were so far.   
Andrea was killing time, counting the hours, minutes, seconds until she had to leave the hotel room, put on whatever clothes Miranda would send to her room, take a taxi back to Nate, and tell him point blank that she wanted a divorce. What a joke, what would people say? She wanted to call Lily, she wanted to tell her everything but she was afraid of the ‘I told you.”  
She wanted to call her mother, and tell her everything, but her mother didn’t know who she was anymore. And she was afraid of the reaction she’d get from her progenitor. The honorable, always impeccable member of the church council Mrs. Sachs.   
She opts for Doug, he’d understand, he already knew. She calls him, the tone dials and it almost seems as if he’s going to pick up the phone. The tone dial drowns out, voicemail hits only to tell her that the box is full. It’s probably better that way, this is something she must face on her own. She had no idea how Nate will react, what he will do or what follows the announcement. If he refused to sign the divorce papers, she didn’t want to go to court, but she would. She could not imagine how that would play out in the papers.  
Miranda could see it too, she could see the headlines as she poured herself a glass of water and waited for room service. She was not in the mood to go to the dining room again, not without Andrea to steady her thoughts. What if Andrea deemed that this was not worth it. The headlines that would no doubt drag both their names in the mud. They would question how long this had been going. It would be a rightful question, marked by a true affair. Miranda had been legally married when they had slept in another hotel. What an irony, Andrea was married now, they both had been at the spectrum of the other’s fatality. Only Miranda had fallen in love first, or maybe she had just realized it first, maybe she had accepted it first, surrendered to it first, maybe she just had loved Andrea more. She smiles, usually her pride would tell her that it was impossible. Whoever she was in a relationship with must always idolize her, they must love her more, want her more, after all she was Miranda Priestly and they were … no one. But Andrea had changed all that, she had made her propose out of character, with every intention of following through. She had made her put her heart on the line again, by coming here. She was prepared for it to be shattered, knowing that she would always love Andrea. And now that the possibility of redemption loomed in the near horizon, now that she had held Andrea again, in her bed, in her heart, without it being a sex affair, she was sure she could never let Andrea go. Andrea had said that …. Miranda lifts her head. She had said that if she asked again she would not resist. Did that mean, Andrea would marry her?  
Andrea is pacing the room, she’s trying to anticipate what Nate would say, she can almost see his kind eyes burning with anger and glossing over with tears. She could see the hurt pride and the broken heart. She could see it, her heart ached for him, but she would make him miserable. She should not have said yes to him. She stops her pacing, yesterday she had told Miranda that the reason she hadn’t called her was because she would not be strong enough to resists if Miranda asked again. If Miranda asked again would Andrea marry her? And if Miranda never asked, would she ask the iconic, out of her league editor? Before her lips dropped a whispered yes, she already knew the answer.   
A week seemed like a long time to be stuck in these four walls, with a bottle of wine and all the insecurities in the world. Miranda chooses to return to New York. She sends Andrea a note, accompanied by a bottle of Veuve Cliquot and chocolate.

“I have always been a firm believer that if you love something you should let it go, and if it comes back it is yours. You came back to me yesterday, and I am confident that you will come back to me again at the end of the week. I understand this is something you must do alone, but if you need me I will always come to you.

I love you Andrea,

Miranda”

Andrea read the note twice over. She wishes Miranda had stayed, she wanted to know that the woman was just a few feet away. She is glad that she left thought, it would prove too tempting to run to her instead of facing Nate. She marches out of the Boston hotel the following morning and arrives to meet Nate at the breakfast table already. 

“Andy what the fuck is going one?” he asks.   
Andrea hates when he does that in public, but she would do it too if her bride of just a week had disappeared for two days.  
“Calm down, let me explain,” she starts.  
“Where have you been?” he asks softer but stronger, his eyebrows crease and he is worried.   
“I was at a different hotel,” she says.   
“the front desk said you left with an older, elegant lady. The valet said it was Miranda Priestly, I don’t know what’s going on Andy?”  
She looks down at the table, orders a coffee with whiskey. He eyes her confused still.   
“I’m I missing something here?”  
She gulps the coffee, the silence is deafening.   
“I want a divorce,” she murmurs and right after Nate drops his coffee cup.   
The flurry of the servers cleaning it, gives her a moment to think.  
“What?” he says once the table looks pristine again.

“I want a divorce Nate, I should not have married you. I don’t love you. I’m sorry,” she reaches over to eat one of his bacon pieces. She does it more out of nervousness that hunger.

“I … Is there someone else? I mean I don’t care if you don’t love me. I always knew that,” he reasons.

“You did?” she frowns. 

Tears are coming out of his precious grey eyes her heart is breaking. There lines are blurry, whatever decision one takes at moments like this will break someone else’s heart. 

“That’s not why I’m leaving,” she lies.

“Who is it,” his words are measured like smoke puffs from a volcano before it erupts.

“Why would you marry me if you knew?” she asks.

“Because we’re right for each other, and I was going to make you fall in love with me again.”

Oh, her heart aches, tears fall from her eyes too.

“Let’s start over okay, I’ll pretend this didn’t happen,” he offers.

It’s tempting, she could walk away again with her life intact. She shakes her head, that’s not what she wants anymore. She want’s happiness, with all the scarring, and the blood that it will cost her. That is the price of battle, the price of freedom, the price of anything worth having.   
She want’s Miranda and she made a promise to her. The church memory hits her in the face like ice buckets in a child’s summer game. She had made a promise to Nate too, a promise to God, a promise to her family.   
“I wish I could Nate, everything would be easier,” she smiles sadly.

“Fucking tell me who it is,” he repeats.

“I have a lawyer, she will send you the papers tomorrow. Please sign them,” she explains.

“Where are you staying?” he asks, not listening to her.

“At a friend’s,” her words are not entirely untrue.

“The friend you’re not leaving me for?” his sarcasm is annoying. 

“I am not leaving you for someone else, I am leaving because I don’t love you. I should not have married you, I passed out on my wedding night for gods sake! I told my two best friends I needed alcohol to walk down the aisle. I love you Nate, as a friend, as a person. And we were good, but we’re not anymore. How could you let me marry you, knowing I didn’t love you?” she gets up from the table and drops the key to the hotel room.   
“You’re stay is payed until tonight,” she drops airline tickets and a car service home, “this is your flight home. I will have people go by the apartment tonight and take my belongings out.”

Her tone is so definitive he doesn’t argue anymore. It’s frightening for her, she does not know where she stands but she won’t let him know. 

“And why did Miranda come?” he asks. A wild look now coloring his always calm face.

“Because she loves me,” she tells him and puts her hand on his shoulder as a comfort gesture, but also to sit him down. 

“Fuckign cunt, is it the money?” he asks turning to face his wife.

“It’s the fact that my heart belongs to her, and it’s time I chase my own happiness,” she struts out knowing this is not the end. 

She hadn’t wanted to, but she calls Miranda who was just on her way to the airport.

“don’t leave, I need you?” she says on the phone and within an hour she has picked her up from the hotel. 

Nate doesn’t miss the black limousine pulling up at the curb, the heeled foot stepping out, the flurry of the bell man stopping other cars just for her. He doesn’t miss the perfectly ironed cashmere slacks and the matching top with a ruffled shirt, the diamond drop earring that dangle as the silver haired woman leans in to hug his wife. The embrace lasts a long time, as if she had just finished an incredible feat. He sees a camera flash, he sees the bodyguard blocking it and both women entering the car. She sees it drive off into the distance. How the fuck did he loose Andrea to the one person she used to hate?


	14. Sunrise

There is a lot looming on the horizon, a lot pending on the orange haze that is starting to peak out over the Boston waterfront and onto their opened balcony window. They are sitting in the quietude of the early morning, the comfort it provides to both altered souls. Miranda rests her elbows on the railing, sipping coffee and smiling without a real cause. Andrea sits quietly the weight of everything that has transcribed in the last 24 hours weighting heavily on her. It’s unsettling in very unexpected way. She feels guilty over Nate, over his saddened eyes, over the fear and rage that glossed over them in a matter of minutes. She feels angst as she knew she would, as she had tried to avoid, but she also looks up to Miranda in a black silk robe, and her coffee cup and her eyes that match the calm eastern waters and she feels a calm and a softness seep through every being in her body.

“I love you,” she says without context. There doesn’t need to be one, Miranda instantly turns and smiles every broader, her eyes sparkle like the waves that are starting to receive the sunshine. 

“I loved you first,” she says and there is no discussion on that part.

“How do you feel,” she says having been given an unspoken permission by the brunette.

“Heart-broken for Nate,” she says honestly and Miranda understands. Her eyes cast downward and she takes her young lover’s hands in hers.

“It was wrong, what I did. I didn’t love him. On the night before my wedding I told Lilly and Doug that I still loved you and the following morning I went through with everything,” she sighs.

Miranda shrugs, “and now?”

“I also feel this sense of perfection when I’m with you, I feel an ecstatic enthusiasm for our future, for spending the rest of my life with you,” she smiles and her pools of chocolate tear up.

Miranda leans in to give her a chaste kiss, “you know it won’t be as easy as this right? Once we step of that plane, once we announce it publically it will be a whirlwind for some time right?”

Andrea nods, “I know, and forever. Every gala, and every event, and every step stone in our life.  
But I don’t care anymore, I … it was silly and immature to break us apart because I was overwhelmed.”

The phone rings interrupting their conversation, Miranda picks up the phone. 

“Miss Priestly? I have a phone call from a Mrs. Rachel Sachs? Should I put the call through?” the operator sounds nervous. Miranda glances at the brunette who stares back at her.

“It’s your mother,” she says and Andrea gets up in second, jumping like a scared rabbit. 

“You don’t have to answer yet, you don’t have to answer ever,” the older editor reminds Andrea as the look of fear strikes her.

“Do you want to?” 

Andrea hesitates.

“Miss Priestley?” the operator asks.

Andrea shakes her head, the she changes her mind, “Yes, I will talk to her.”

Miranda sighs, “put her on.”

“Andy?” 

“Mom,” she replies.

“Are you okay? Nate called saying he didn’t know where you were, then he called again and said you two are divorcing? Is this a joke?” she sounds agitates. Andrea would not blame her.

“It is not a joke mother, I don’t love Nate. I filed for divorce.”

There is a silence on the other line, “he said you had someone else. Is it true darling?” 

Andrea could not tell if her mother was mad, worried or disappointed. They all made her heart hurt and she felt the butterflies of anxiety overcome her. Miranda grounds her putting both her hands on her shoulders.

“Yes, there is.”

“Andy? Since when?” her mother says again.

“I don’t think we should discuss this over the phone. I’m going to New York tomorrow and then I’ll fly out to Ohio. I want to tell you all this in person and I want you to meet them in person too. “

“Who is it?” she says.

“I will tell you in a few days,” she finishes.

“Andrea Sachs you better tell your mother now!” 

“I know it’s urgent mother, but it’s also not something to be told over the phone. I will see you in a few days.”

She hangs up the phone and looks up to Miranda. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t even ask if you wanted to meet my parents.”

“I only want to do what will make you happy, that is all. If you want me to meet them I will, if you don’t then I don’t have to. I know all this is hard.”

Andrea smiles, “can we just stay in here all day? I just want to hold you?”

Miranda sits down on the bed and pats the spot next to hers. 

“Nothing sounds better, my love.”


	15. Dusk settles

Ohio is a vast landscape away from New York, the back to back skyscrapers and dark streets turn into rolling hills and large front yards. The glamour of 5th Avenue and the luxe of Upper Manhattan turns into church signs and farm houses. The grit of Brooklynn and the history of the ports turns into river fronts and humid forests. Ohio is a different world, one marked by longstanding traditions, family and patriotism of the past.  
Miranda can see the fields of green as the plane lands at Cleveland international, the Midwest charm is lost upon her, as she boards the black Cadillac SUV that will take them to the hotel.  
She sees the green all around her, intertwined with the art deco building of the old downtown center as the car parks and attendant rushes out to greet them.

“Do you want to go to dinner at … with my parents?” Andrea asks hesitant. The plane was very silent on the way and the ride echoed the sentiment. 

Miranda turns as if this is the first time she has heard Andrea speak and after a second she smiles, “Of course darling, the faster we get this done, the better.”

Andrea knows this can turn out good, it can be a middle ground tolerable event or it can turn out bad. It can turn out very bad. She doesn’t know what she’ll be willing too loose. What will draw the line, what is too much? If it came down to it, would she choose Miranda?

The editor can see it in her eyes, she would understand. Of course, she would, if Andrea chose family it would make perfect sense. It would still, break her heart. The don’t have to wait too long to find out. Three hours in which they change, and freshen up fly past them. Miranda’s grey wool sweater and casual jeans have been changed to a black palazzo with tiny studs hemmed to the top and ending at the hip. She has paired it with nude heels and a Chanel bracelet. It demands authority, but exudes elegance and most importantly it keeps it simple and approachable. Andrea has opted for a light blue dress, at the advice of Miranda. It has an empire waist, it is almost a modernized look of something Julie Andrew wore in the Sound of Music.  
Miranda hasn’t told her, but she wanted her lover’s parents to see her as part of the culture still, still their little girl, New York hadn’t changed her. Look are always part of the game, no one knew that more than the queen of fashion.

Andrea’s mother opens the door, the house sits at the corner of a quiet cull de sac, it is white with blue shutters, and tall vaulted ceilings. Miranda can imagine Andrea playing in the all too large yard. She wonders if maybe she should have given the twins the same change, a pure unaltered childhood. 

“Andy,” her mother states flatly.  
“Mom, this is …” she is about to say Miranda but she’s cut off by Rachel herself.

“I know who Miranda Priestly is, there is no need for awkward introductions,” she states flatly and puts out her hand to the editor, “You can call me Rachel.”

“Rachel,” Miranda shakes the outstretched hand, “It’s good to meet you.”

Rachel Sachs is a beautiful woman, a classic Midwest beauty with large green eyes the reflect the fields upon which she grew up and long blond hair wrapped in a French bun. She’s not as thin as she used to be but her figure demands authority too, the kind you get as the chair for the town society’s and city council lead. She’s a few inches shorter than Miranda, but only the inches that the heels grant the editor. The Midwest woman was a beauty queen of her time, and dressed still in an elegant black business dress and a thin gold chain. 

“Come in,” she motions, “your father will be down in a moment.”

Both Andrea and Miranda step into the foyer, the silver haired editor following the blue dress woman. 

“Do you want anything to drink?” Rachel asks, “I have red wine or whiskey.”

“Whiskey sounds like a safe choice,” Miranda says and she knows she will probably need it.

“That would be my choice too,” Rachel nods and walks off into the other end, coming back with three tumblers filled more than half with Whiskey. 

“So, you’ve finally made a valiant choice, Andrea?” her mother says before the young journalist can start the explanation she had conjured up over the last few days.

Miranda coughs, surprised the words that came out of the other woman’s mouth too. The whiskey goes down faster than she thought, Rachel has good taste. 

“What?” Andrea asks.

“Hello, I’m Richard Sachs,” comes the introduction at the worst moment.

Miranda gets up to shake one more hand, Rachel is expecting an answer and Andrea spits out her whiskey and starts to laugh.

“Did I miss something?” the grey- haired man asks. He looks formal, with dark slacks and a checkered sweater. Miranda eyes him over, he seems like someone who would be a good listener and give out sound advice. She can see him teaching Andrea to ride a bike, to write an essay, listening to her first heartbreak and encouraging her big city dreams. She smiles.

They stare at each other for a passing moment. All four people simple sizing each other up and wondering what they should say next. 

“Do you want to tell us now or during dinner?” her father asks without sitting down.

“I … there is nothing to tell. I am getting a divorce.”

She expects her father to ask why in fucks name she made them go through a wedding, spend the money, invite all the aunts and uncles and the priest. She can imagine her mother asking why she thought this was good idea, Nate and her, her and Nate, they were perfect.  
She had answers to their questions planned in her mind, and a defense for when they attacked Miranda, for when they would say that she wasn’t a good choice.

Miranda sips the whiskey, she looks uncomfortable. Andrea puts a hand on her thigh. She can see both her parent’s eyes dart to the exact spot. 

“We know that, and we know why,” Rachel says gulping her own whiskey.

“You do?” their daughter asks surprised.

“You told us, you didn’t love him. We can understand that. I’m not going to question feelings. After all this is something you will live with the rest of your life. If it is a good decision you will be proud and all the discomfort it has caused with be well worth it. And…” she stops and looks over at her husband, “if it’s a bad one, only you will live with it.

Andrea nods. She had never seen her mother respond so calmly to a possible family scandal. Her mother, the one that always was worried about what people would think, what the members of the church would speak of, the one that buried family secrets behind a prayer and a crucifix was providing a free for all.

“All we want to know is that you are sure, and that … this” her father speaks twirling a glass of red wine in her left hand. He stops and looks at the editor who by now was finished all the whiskey. “That all of this is going to make you happy.”

Andrea bites her lips, “I am sure.” 

Miranda clears her throat, “I know this isn’t really my explanation to explain,” she starts.

“I don’t know if I’m the right person for Andrea or if I will make her as happy as she deserves. I don’t know what your thoughts on me are, on us, on our relationship. I don’t know what your beliefs allow, I don’t know if I will be able to live up to your standards,” she pauses and listens to herself. Miranda Priestly not sure of herself, what a juxtaposition.

“But I do know, that I love your daughter, and I will live every day that she allows me to be by her side trying to make her happy. For me, Andrea is the only choice.”

Andrea gulps, Rachel’s green eyes look across at the woman dressed in black, the one who intimidates hundreds and who is now so harmless across from her.

“Andrea?” 

The brunette runs her hands over the pleats of the blue dress, “I am sorry I made a mess. I tried to be perfect, what you two had raised me to be. Then I realized you had raised me to be valiant, and go after what I love. I love Miranda and I know it isn’t what you wanted, I know it doesn’t fit perfectly with the beliefs, the faith you taught me, but this is all I have. Yes this will make me happy,” the words are half an explanation and half a confession. 

Rachel takes a deep breath, Miranda is ready to leave. The tension can be cut with a bread knife. The blonde woman gets up and in painfully slow motion comes back with a decanted of whiskey. She pours herself another shot, and reaches out to fill the other cups.  
She nods, “well … that’s that then.”

Andrea is confused, she does not know what her mother means. Where are the tears and the yelling?

“So … this is okay?” Andrea asks reaching out for the whiskey glass.

“It’s not okay,” her father says, “we didn’t plan for it, and we didn’t expect it… but this is all entirely your life, your fate, your destiny. As far as we know you will still be out daughter until we die, and though we may not agree with your choices, we will be there.”

It’s an odd compromise, not an acceptance and not a rejection. It isn’t peace but it isn’t war and Andrea will take it for now.

“Now then, shall we go to dinner?” Rachel asks getting up.

Both women nod and follow the host to the dining room.

“Miranda would you care for we red or white with dinner, Richard has made salmon?”

“White I suppose, we’ll be traditional,” Miranda says and Rachel smiles.

“Richard would you get the wine? Miranda would you mind helping me bring the sides out? And Andy can you finish setting the table?”

“Sure,” Andrea answers and it’s a flashback just like any other afternoon at the Sachs’ household, all she is missing is her brother.

Miranda follows Rachel into the kitchen and stands nervously as she’s handed two side plates. The food smells delicious, suddenly both eyes meet. The ice blue of the big shot New York socialite and the dark green of the Ohio matron.

“You better take good care of her, the media, the craziness,” Rachel says.  
“I promise, thank you,” Miranda whispers softly.

Rachel shrugs, “God gives us children and they are the most important thing in our life. We can’t do much more than raise then with our beliefs and our hopes but ultimately, they must decide and choose. If we are the most important thing to them, we have failed. You have daughters, you will see. I must accept what Andrea wants.”

Again, it’s a treaty with loops, but a treaty nonetheless. Miranda smiles and dinner proceeds without a hitch. They talk about the divorce lawyer, about a visit to New York, about the azaleas blooming and about the new house trends. Dusk falls and the lights go on, darkness envelops the house and the two women promise to return the following day for afternoon tea and a trip out to the plaza, as if everything was settled and good.


	16. This is not a war

Despite the muffled success at the Sach’s household that evening both women rode back mostly in silence. Andrea was baffled by her parent’s words, she wasn’t sure she ever expected a calm response from them, much more a resigned acceptance. They step of the car and ride the elevator in silence, just like they used to at Runway.

“well that went different,” Miranda states.  
The famous editor had been in a lot of uncomfortable situations from privileged actors, to boardrooms full of men, to fashion shows in disaster. She could not say that any intimidated her, she never was made nervous. She knew she could handle any situation as it came along, and that got her through it, but tonight was different. If Rachel had demanded an explanation, if there had been reproaches, ultimatums and rejections it would have been easier. She would have squared her shoulders and been Miranda Priestly; but the family had been polite. They had been reproachful in a way that hurts and then doesn’t, like parents coaching small children, they had been condescending, and that had bothered her. It had bothered her but there was nothing she could do. What do you say to a polite dinner invitation with the in-laws? What do you reproach if they let you choose the wine, and set up the best table for you? It made her nervous and she felt completely powerless. 

Andrea could feel it, the position Miranda was put in. She can’t say she wasn’t grateful for the lack of screaming she had anticipated but it didn’t feel like a victory at all. It felt like those days when you come home, sit down, pour yourself a whiskey and drink it in silence. It seemed like those moments where you wonder what life is about, and where your liaisons lie. It’s victory but it sure doesn’t taste like it.

“Yeah, it sure did,” Andrea answers as they open the door to the penthouse suite and do exactly what was described. They sit in the receiving room, pour some whiskey and consume it in silence. 

“We can call it a victory,” Andrea says after what seems like an eternity but was only 10 minutes.

Miranda nods absentmindedly, she’s looking out the window into the neon lights and evening lights of the downtown area. 

“We could, but that would mean we were in a war,” she clarifies, “and we were not. This is a simple choice of happiness … don’t you agree?”

Andrea nods, she’s not sure where this is going. Miranda was oddly quiet the whole evening, except for a few moments here and there. She felt that she was about to get the full extent of her thoughts and that it would be a revelation within themselves. She was sure they would consume her for the remaining of the night and the remainder of their weekend here.

“I love you Andrea, perhaps I loved you at first sight, perhaps it was after, I don’t know, but I know I loved you first. That is not much of a secret,” she stops.  
“I would do anything for you, and that as any good assistant knows… is very unlike me.”  
She’s looking out the window still, having gotten up and poured herself a second drink. She holds it in her left hand, resting her elbow on her waist and her right shoulder on the window sill.  
“I would do anything for you because I love you, I always will. I will go back tomorrow to your family, and I’ll come any time you ask me. That said, I don’t think they have the right to decide that what we have isn’t right. It was out of turn for them to be condescending, the whole night was them doing us a favor? “

Andrea understand exactly what Miranda means; her parents had always been great at guilt and manipulations. Sometimes forgiveness from them came at higher cost than anger. Forgiveness meant that Andrea had been wrong, but they would overlook it and grant her a pardon. It made her feel guilty of whatever action for a long time, it seemed to have the same effect on them now. 

Miranda suddenly turns and glorious blue eyes in turmoil look at her, “I just want you to understand we didn’t win any battle here, Andrea, we are simply two people in love, who want to spend their life together, nothing less, nothing more. And love should not have to wage a war. “

Andrea somberly nods, she gulps the rest of her drink. She wants to cry because Miranda’s words are true. She wants to cry because very subtly her parents have rejected her love. Nonetheless she knows common decency and Midwest guilt will make her go back tomorrow, smile, endure and come back every year. She knows love will make Miranda accompany her, and that is how society works. 

“I know,” she finally says and Miranda smiles sadly walking over to meet her lover. She sits next to her, Andrea lays down gently putting her head on Miranda’s lap, letting thin hands stroke her hair, and contour her face. Letting the lights go off for lack of motion and the humdrum of the night fade in on them.

 

When the weekend is over both women look forward to the chaos of New York. It’s a welcomed relief to come to the townhome where Andrea spends a few days while she gets all her belongings in order. The smiles on the twin’s face as they see their mom and Andy erases some of the pain from the weekend. Miranda had let both girls know that she was going to find Andy, and that if Andy accepted, they would be a couple. 

“We just want to see you happy mom,” they had replied and that had been that. 

“Andy! Mom! Welcome home!” they had bounced up and down, their usual serious faces filled with anticipation.

That Monday had been a good day. Miranda had gone back to work, but the twins had the day off and they had stayed with Andy. They had helped her unpack a few things, they had cooked dinner and apologized for all the pranks they played on her as an assistant. 

“Water under the bridge,” Andy had assured them right before she hid their phones and acted like she didn’t know for an hour.

They took it as fair payback. 

By the time the editor got home, they twins had gone off to bed and Andy was sitting in the living room, nursing a glass of wine. 

“you look so serious darling, I always don’t want to disturb you.”

Andrea shrugs, “I always want to be disturbed from serious thoughts, especially if it’s by a beautiful woman.”

“that concerns me, I should never let the models near you then?” she jokes.

“I should specify that I only like you,” Andrea says and Miranda sits next to her taking the wine out of the youngers woman’s hand.

“I love coming home to you, “she whispers.

Andrea gulps because she knows exactly what comes after this, it’s frightening and yet it’s like she had always knowns. It is like she had been waiting for this moment and this person her whole life. Miranda wasn’t going to say it, not just yet. She was going to hold off for a few months, but she knows it’s the right time, and the right person and that after all they have been through it can’t go wrong. 

“Why don’t you stay here, at the townhouse?” she blurts and it does not sound how she imagined it.

Andrea kisses Miranda’s cheek, “I am staying tonight.”

“I know, but why don’t you stay … for a long time. You should stop looking for an apartment, why don’t you stay … forever?” Her words this time come out perfect like a velvet purr, like the way she pronounces her name and sais “that’s all”, it comes out confident even thought her voice breaks slightly, it comes out like love.

Andrea reaches out for Miranda’s hand and nods, “Okay.”

Nothing else is said. Somethings are hard and somethings are easy. Now they just have to face the media.


	17. If they make a circus

“Andrea! One thing is letting you live your life and the other is this circus I have in front of my house! How the fuck do you expect me to even get out to the market or to church! Your father had to stumble out to work!” Rachel sounds irritated, irritated enough for her to curse at her daughter. 

“Mom, I’m sorry I have no control of the reporter, there can be that many,” she says.

“Andrea do you think I’d be calling you for one or two, don’t you think I could handle that? You’re on the fucking news? Everyone is calling me. What do I even tell them? How embarrassing. Your divorce is just finalized, the ink isn’t even dry and her, she’s got … were you with her during her marriage? Is this true Andy?”

Andrea sighs on the phone, “Mom I had a slew of reporters here too and I’m sure Miranda has PR working on it at Runway. I don’t know what to as.”

“Answer my question Andy! Don’t lie by omission, you’re in enough sins as is, I’m your mother, I’m always going to be your mother!”

“I know that, I … you,” annoyance and defeat blend in the brunette’s voice. “last time you said you would accept my choice, can we just continue with that?”

“Your choice is affecting my life now Andrea Sachs… I have the neighbors asking why there are ten reporters outside my window? They even went to knock at the neighbor’s house, they want to know about you, did I know you were dating Miranda? Is that how you got the job? All these questions? I have phone calls from the New York Times and God knows who else,” Rachel pauses.

“Mom …I ‘m sorry,” Andrea vocalizes. 

“Fix this Andrea,” she says and hangs up the phone. The receiver beeps.   
She hangs up softly. The three months after Boston had been lived in arrested peace. They knew that the media would go in a frenzy as soon as they made it public. They had chosen to wait for the divorce to finalize. While Andrea lived at the Priestly household they reframed from going out a lot in public or anything that would advertise their relationship. Then three days ago, Miranda and her, attended a benefit ball and they help hands. The unofficial announcement was later confirmed by Runways PR department with the simple statement that the couple was exploring a relationship, having re-met after working together and that they would appreciate privacy in their lives.   
Of course, that did not happen and a day later the calls and reporters started. The Times gave Andy a few days off, she hadn’t thought about her family. 

Miranda can only imagine how difficult this is all on Andrea. 

“Emily,” she calls out to a girl that is not Emily of course.   
“I’m taking the rest of the day off,” she dictates.

Before the girls can answer, she starts a list, “Have Leslie call me at home, by 2 to see where we are with limiting the media. Call Armando and have him send the security detail to the townhouse. I want an editorial to call me about the story on Ellen and I need Nigel to send me the picture proofs. Finally, I need the editors letter cut before print, I am making a new one. That’s all.” 

The girl struggles to hand her the coat and bag as she memorizes the commandments that have been just dictated to her, as Miranda swirls out of the office into the elevator and down to be met by Roy who parks at the correct moment to open the door like a synchronized play. 

“Why are you home so early?” Andrea asks surprised.  
She was nursing a glass of wine, still sitting by the coach where she took her mother’s call.  
“Because the media people are bitches, and I am re-writing the editors letter,” she says.  
“Oh,” is all Andrea is able to formulate.  
Miranda kneels down in front of Andrea and pulls the brunette in.   
“Mostly I wanted to see how you were holding up?”  
Andrea shrugs, her deep pools of brown meet sky blue endless ones.  
“Andrea darling, for me the press is nothing new. I’ve been praised, and trashed across every front cover and page six. I’ve had my divorce made into a tragic novel to say the least. I’m used to it. You don’t have to be okay with all of this, but you do have to talk to me about it.”

Tears roll down Andrea’s eyes, “I am okay with it, it’s just that my family called….” She stops  
“I heard,” Miranda sighs, resting her arms on Andrea’s thighs. It could almost be taken as a symbol of both love and defeat.

“She’s right, I am disrupting their life,” Andrea whispers. 

“Don’t be ridiculous Andrea, that’s nonsense,” both women turns around to see Anna standing at the edge of the living room

“What are you even doing here?” Miranda asks directly and without tack, “you don’t call anymore?”

Anna raises her eyebrow in annoyance and walks a few steps forward, “I did call, I called your office and you were not there … again.”

“I could have been anywhere,” Miranda says looking up at the petite women with large sunglasses on.

“You could have been, except that I called Cara to see if the girls were home and she said they were not but you were,” she smiles mischievously, “so here I am.”

Andrea coughs at which point Miranda gets up to sit on the opposite couch and Anna drops down her purse.

“I came to take you all to dinner,” she announces.

“That’s nice of you, but…” Miranda starts.

“It’s not a question, we’re going. I’ve found that the best cure for the media to stop making a circus is to give them a show. “

Miranda stares at her oldest friend, and then at Andrea who nods.

“Perfect, now if you two can change I’ll pour myself a drink.”

“Change into what?” Miranda asks in disbelief that someone would ask her to change her fashion perfect attire.

“Into something suitable for dinner,” she drops and walks out of the room with a glass of wine.


	18. give them a show ~

Andrea sits on the bedroom balcony of her downtown Ohio hotel, she knows Miranda is resting her head against the large mahogany headboard quietly wondering about what happens next. She would never ask her outload, part of her thinks she’s not that type of woman, part of her thinks she’s afraid of the answer she will get.  
Andrea sip her wine and tries hard to focus on the fireflies that fly around the iron decorated balcony, but this is her fifth glass of wine and she’s not sure she can. She is sure however of her memory of the past three years, of that night at the Park Plaza hotel, when Anna took them to dinner and a swarm of paparazzi swooped up as they arrived, she remembers Valentino waiting for them at dinner and what a scandal that was. In the end, the magazine editor and longtime friend had been right, the public outcry had died suddenly and the pair was left alone. They were left alone by the press not their friends, starting with Ms. Wintour who always wanted to have them over at her mansion in the Hamptons, and Valentino the ever romantic who had his jet fly them over to Italy. Doug always wanted to come and visit, mostly to chat with Miranda but on occasions he’d talk to Andrea too and Nigel, well he wasn’t even a guest he was part of the household.  
But just as Anna had been right about giving the paparazzi a show, no one had told her that her mother would pass away within the three-year mark, three years to the day. No one had told her that her mother on her deathbed, using her last words would ask her to leave Miranda.  
Yes, Andrea had pleaded, she had pleaded with her mother. How do you even plead with a dying woman’s last wish? She had bargained, she had asked.  
“Please, mom, don’t ask me that,” she had said.  
“Ask me anything else?”

“I just need that one promise from you,” her mother had said.

“Ask me for anything else?” Andrea had bargained.

Her mother had shook her head, “I don’t need anything else.”

“I’m dying Andrea, promise me? Andy? Promise me?”

“You never said anything all these years?” Andrea reasoned.

Words were always useless in these situations the bedridden woman’s thoughts were made. No power on earth could change them.

“Promise me Andrea, …”

Her mother’s words were haunting, like shadows that darkened her every day. They are back for the one year anniversary. The memorial is organized by her father and the members of the church. Miranda came to the funeral, in black Gucci and standing a few feet behind everyone. Runway had paid big money for the media not to cover the event, it would have been strange. It would have been strange to see the fashion diva standing away from everyone, in a shadow corner, paying for an unknown sin. She wasn’t going to come to the memorial, Andrea definitely did not make it clear she wanted the silver haired editor there, but she did extend the invitation. Miranda took it, because Miranda knew that Andrea was between heaven and hell. Miranda knew that guilt burdened her, it weighted on her, it crushed her at night. She could see it, after they had sex in the distancing of Andrea’s thoughts and the agony of her sighs when she looked out the window on a rainy day. She was disobeying her mother, Miranda had not asked if she had agreed to the promise her dying mother asked, if she had evaded or denying. She didn’t want to know. She could not stand knowing. 

Andrea could feel the tears falling down her brown eyes, they weren’t falling for a certain reason, just a deep sadness that either way she would never be content. If she stayed with Miranda, the weight of her mother’s last word would haunt her until the end of her life and if she didn’t, her broken heart would crush her. There was no easy way out, there never was in this sort of story. She envied people, with the caring mothers, who organized bridal showers for them, with the loving mothers the type who understood how hard society was, and how love was in the end only love. She even envied people who were alone in the world, because at least you didn’t have to live up to standards. that were not your own. At least then, it was just finding the right person in this vast world. 

Andrea didn’t have to turn around to know that Miranda had gotten up, that she was carrying her wine glass over to the oversized balcony, she didn’t have to turn to head the pour of more wine on her own glass, six glasses.  
“The memorial is at ten,” comes the cool and collected voice of the editor. Someone who doesn’t know her, would say that her words are informative. Andrea knows they are questioning. 

“I know,” Andrea answers. 

Miranda gulps the last of her second glass and tries to get up, but Andrea grabs her. It’s complicated, it hurts. They have always been complicated, perhaps the complication has always been one sides. Perhaps it has just been her, just her, just Andrea.

“don’t” is the only words that comes out of the brunette’s mouth. 

One could argue it’s a loaded word. Don’t what?’

Anna had made a show of that evening, she had called every fashion newspaper and interested newscaster in the New York area. They had been shiny and loud and very upper Manhattan. That is what the press wanted, that is what they were getting. Miranda Priestly looking like the fashion editor she was, and Anna Wintour like her nemesis clinging glasses at the Plaza. Andrea looking like the perfect assistant turned lover, it fit it was just what they wanted. It worked. But there was nothing that would work now. She knew it.

“Don’t what Andrea, don’t leave you? Don’t pour more wine? Don’t sit here and watch you suffer?" Andrea quietly turns, once again brown orbs meet diamond ones, like they do every day. There is nothing different about them now, except they are sitting in a balcony in Ohio and fate stands in the limbo.

“I love you Andrea, I am so in love with you,” the older woman says and gets up running her hand absentmindedly over the younger brunette.

“Miranda,” she says but it’s too soft and too late Miranda has gone to bed.

Andrea follows her, after a few minutes, walking slowly, stumbling slightly, running her hands clumsily over the older woman’s body.

“I love you too,” she whispers.

Miranda smiles, she accepts the hungry kiss, the tear stained cheeks that meet hers. She lets the smell of Caroline Herrera and wine touch her, and she decides at least for tonight to shut out the insecurity


	19. Another lifetime

It seems like a whole lifetime ago that she was standing facing the window of a Paris hotel, making vulnerable confessions at a young woman who sat across her. It seems like they were two completely different people then, under the sepia light that streamed from the window. She can’t even remember what color the furniture in the room was, or what Andrea had said right before Miranda has blurted out, “Marry me, Andrea.”

A soft cold hand tapped her own and brought her out of the daze that she was in. Today the hot Midwest sun set on them, the limousine had stopped in front of the large brick church where the memorial would be held.   
“Miranda we’re here,” Andrea said in a hushed voice as if the walls were listening. That was a whole lifetime ago, she thinks to herself as they file in slowly after three ladies with large black derby hats and Sunday dresses. Miranda is wearing a black flowing skirt paired with a paisley blouse. Her signature shades cover the myriad of emotions that would otherwise be visible and her left -hand clutches a Fendi wallet. Andrea walks silently besides her, almost too silent as if afraid to make a sound. She’s playing with rings, she knows people are staring. You would think that after three years she would be used to the scrutiny, the public, the looks. She was, but this was different. These people knew her personally, they had attended her school recitals, they had brunched with her mother, they had seen her do her first communion and seen her get married. Her long black dress pants shimmered quietly along Miranda’s skirt and they sat down quietly. Miranda listens to the speeches, and the good memories and the laughs of the people gathered in the room. She doesn’t lift her gaze, she’s too tired for that. Andrea sits very still the whole time, she doesn’t move and doesn’t touch her lover. Suddenly Victoria, her mother’s sister calls her up to the stand. Andrea had specifically said that she did not want to talk at the memorial, but this was Ohio, no one got away with that shit.   
She takes a deep breath and turns to look at Miranda, the same shocked look as when she had seen her in that Boston hotel. The same decisive moment, the same beat in her heart. Miranda nods at her, she wants to hold her hand, to hug her, to tell her that she doesn’t have to do anything because someone else says it but she knows that would not calm the younger brunette. 

“I am a writer,” is the first thing Andrea says, “a journalist by trade and a book writer by luck.”  
She smiles, the crowd sits perfectly still, a few are looking at her but most are looking at Miranda.   
“I don’t do well with speeches, I’m sure my mother knew that. I don’t have anything prepared because I wasn’t planning on speaking,” there is a pregnant pause. A dead silence.   
A few chairs move and a few people cough. 

“My mother was a great figure in the community, she was kind and helpful and believed deeply in her roots and morals. She passed that on to me, I like to think I’m kind to, from the strays I help to the friends I cultivate. I like to think I deeply believe in my roots, a Midwest girl still at heart even in the middle of New York and that I stand for my morals. I like to think her legacy of strength lives on me. I have knowns many of you since before I could walk, and for that I am extremely grateful. I don’t know what else to say that hasn’t been said, I could tell you many memories of my childhood, of my teens, of us two. The truth is most of you were either there or have already head the anecdote.”  
Again, the crown responds, a few laugh and a few talk amongst themselves. Still the vast majority is looking at Miranda, the elephant in the room.  
“I am extremely grateful for the years I got to spend with her,” she says.   
“I will forever miss her, but she already knows that,” she finishes looking at the picture projected on the background and steps down to scattered applause and a few hugs at the bottom of the podium. She doesn’t come back to Miranda on the third bench of the church, instead she walks out of the side door and lets the sun warm her skin. Half of her hopes Miranda will join her, seek her out. She wants to be enveloped in a hug and cry.   
“Andy?” it was Victoria again.   
“I should not have called you up,” she apologizes.  
Andrea shakes her head, “It’s okay.”  
The older woman offers a hug and Andrea walks into it, tears stream down her face. She misses her mother, how could she not, she was after all her mother. A girl always needs her mother, no matter what anyone says.   
“What are you going to do?” Victoria asks after the sobs have quieted.  
“What do you mean?”

“About the promise? A promise made on a deathbed has to be honored Andrea,” Victoria pats her niece. 

“I know,” the brunette answers.

“It’s been a year.”

Again, Andrea shakes her head and she’s about to say something when she sees everyone filter out, the memorial is over. She looks for Miranda without a word but doesn’t see her.

“I have to go,” she says.

“She left already,” her aunt calls as she walks away, “right after you walked out of the church. I thought she was coming to look for you, but then I saw you alone. I am pretty sure she left.”

Andrea calls the editor, it goes to voice mail.

“Where are you?” she texts her.

“I am sending the chauffeur back to you.”

She knows that’s all she’s going to get from Miranda, she doesn’t blame her. This is all a nightmare. She walks out to the lawn and in a few minutes the limo pulls up. She doesn’t say goodbye to anyone else. The worst thoughts run through her mind. She almost runs up to the elevator and desperately opens the door to the suite. A deep breath escapes her as she sees Miranda still in her skirt and blouse, sitting on the balcony. It reminds her of that time she mustered up the courage to go look for her at the hotel in Boston. How she found her still in her suit, without heels and completely surprised. It had been a good day that day, today was different. That was a lifetime ago, before she broke Nate’s heart, and before she had to tell her parents, before the twins welcomed her into the family and before Miranda asked her to say forever. Forever is a long time, she could see it stretch before them. She wanted nothing more than that, to grow old with Miranda, to travel the world by her side, to wait for her every night. But forever is perhaps too long.

“You’re here,” Miranda states.  
“Yes,” she murmurs.

She gets up, and walks up slowly to Andrea. The brunette now sees that the famous editor has been drinking. She’s holding a bottle of vodka and a rocks glass. 

“So angel,” Miranda asks cool and collected, “what did you decide?”


	20. Grow up

The question can’t possibly be real, Miranda can’t possibly expect her to decide here, right now? She must know how nerve wracked she is, how heartbroken, how shattered, how can she demand something of her now?  
“I don’t know Miranda, how can expect me to decide right now?” she blurts.

It takes a fraction of a second, a flash where both women rationalize what has just happened. Andrea realizes she should not have said that, there in theory should be nothing to decide. She loves Miranda and she could not possibly be thinking of leaving. By saying she didn’t know she has voiced her doubt. Meanwhile Miranda can see the last drop on an already full cup of patience and doubt drop. She knows Andrea has gone through so much lately, but so has she. In fact, Miranda has been waiting for her since that day in Paris, she has patiently waited, followed, chased the brown eyed woman. She has cried for her, cried in front of her friends, she has felt devastated and overcome her fear of rejection to go look for her. She has seen her walk away, get married and doubt their love. She loves her, but love sometimes has to let go.

“You’re right, I have no right asking such a big decision of you now,” she starts her voice rising as she sets the rocks glass down and pour another shot. 

Andrea opens her mouth to speak but Miranda cuts her off, “how dare I ask my partner of a few years to decide if she wants to stay with me. That is so selfish of me.”

She drinks the glass of straight liquor, “when do you suggest we do it then, Andrea? Huh? When would be a good time for you?”

“I didn’t …” the younger woman tries to explain.

“Tomorrow? Would tomorrow be better? The week after? How about in another few years, maybe you’d like to get married to someone else before you decide?” Miranda shrugs her shoulders and unwanted tears slip out of ocean blue eyes.

Andrea can’t possibly see this ending well. 

“Miranda that’s not what I meant, of course not. I love you, I didn’t know what I said. It’s all so much,” Andrea starts to cry. Her world is falling apart, first her mother and then this, she’s been dealing with a request for a year. She’s been mulling over what to do. She knows that it was wrong of her mother to ask such a thing, but she completely understands why her mother did it. She knows that it wasn’t for appearances or looks, she knows that her mother truly believed in the teachings and lessons written across leather bound books of faith. She knows that her mother wanted the best for her, and that if she doesn’t give Miranda an answer she’s going to lose her. The other side is unwanted guilt, guilt she’s been holding on for as long as she’s been with the editor. 

“Oh, no poor Andrea, it’s all so much. Why didn’t I fucking think that, that it was all too much for you? It must be that I haven’t been ever patient with you, that I haven’t given you the room you needed, the time you needed. Must be that I didn’t let you choose in Boston….” She pauses and looks out the window, “I fucking let you go in Boston. I didn’t force you, I didn’t push you, I walked away Andrea and you came knocking on my door that night.”

“I know, I do love you,” Andrea pleads.

“You do love me, how very kind of you” the editor says in obvious sarcasm, “when do you want to decide them?

“Miranda, I don’t know… I…’

“For God’s sake,” she says throwing the glass in her hand across the room, it crashes and shatters against a flower base. The base tumbles and wobbles, “grow up Andrea!”   
The editor rushes across the room, skirts swirling as she opens and slams the door.  
The loudness of a few moments ago, the screams and the tears all disappear. They disappear to be replaced by a soft and deafening silence. The silence one feels in the limbo between death and life. Andrea can hear her own thoughts, her sobs, her fear.

The moments that tick away as some appliance starts or stops, turn into hours. The sun falls, the night covers the valleys and hills. She closes her eyes and waits. Miranda will come back, she has to. She would not leave her here. Then her thoughts cut to the chase and she hesitates. What will happen once Miranda comes back? Is she ready to fight the world with her? She thought she was, all these years she thought she was. Now that her mother is gone it should be easier, but it isn’t. It’s harder. Turns out memories are like ghosts that haunt you. She is calmer now, the lull of the hours has soothed her nerves, her tears have dried and disappeared as she washed her face with warm water. She is no longer sobbing, her heartbeat is soft and calm. She takes a deep breath and then she hears the familiar beep of the door being opened, the hotel card swiping against the knob


	21. It would be easier

She waits for it, waits for Miranda’s cool and velvet voice to announce she’s arrived. It doesn’t come. Instead she gets a poignantly louder and directive voice that turns on the light and sais “get up Andrea, I know you can’t possibly be asleep.”

She opens her eyes as the figure opens the balcony drapes to let in the night glow and turns around sharply to face the brunette sitting up in bed.

“Anna, ….” She pauses trying to articulate what to say next, “where is Miranda?”

The Vogue editor raises her eyebrow and takes a deep breath, she sits at the edge of the bed.

“Miranda, is sleeping. Never make me fly out in the middle of the day, rush out of my meeting and come console the only person I consider a best friend because she’s heartbroken in the middle of Ohio,” her words are heeded warning. 

“Anna, I love her,” Andrea says as if that was an explanation for what had just happened.

Miss Wintour nods her head, as if she were listening to a bad idea at a fashion meeting, “I’m sure you do Andy, I know you do and I’m sure she knows it. I know you would never hurt her intentionally, she knows it too… but Andrea that doesn’t mean your actions are not hurtful now.”

The petite woman gets up and signals for the brunette to rise to.

“Get out of bed, I’m sure you haven’t eaten. I ordered room service.”

Andrea does as she’s told. She’s still wearing the same clothes from the memorial service, she soothes the wrinkles and runs a few fingers through her hair. 

“Where is she?” the brown eyed journalist insists.

“She’s in my room, she needed some space from you.”

The words hurt more than she thought they would. 

“Makes sense,” she whispers. There is a tension in the room, an expectation.

“I Miranda well, I knew from the moment I saw her with you that she was madly in love with you. I knew that she would love you despite what you chose, I had to tell her to go find you in Boston,’ she pauses interrupted by the knock as the food arrives. They pause smile at the server and sign off the receipt. 

Andrea pulls a chair out and so does Anna, neither woman has eaten all day. There is a cheese platter and bread of some sort. There is sautéed vegetables and a salad, there is also coffee and a bottle of wine. They eat a few bites in silence as if communal gallantry would soothe the anticipation in the room. 

“Would you care for wine?” Anna ask and Andrea eagerly nods. 

The conspicuous red liquid pours easily and Andrea gulps it as it were water. 

“Why are you here, Anna?” Andrea asks after she’s had a few cheese and cracker bites.

The older woman sips wine while looking at her from across the makeshift table. 

“I already told you, my only best friend called me heartbroken over an indecisive child. What else could I do but fly over to console her, but mostly to tell you a few things in person.”

Andrea figured as much. The only sane reason she was sitting in a hotel room, in the middle of the night, eating chacuterie and wine with Anna Wintour of all people was because there was a lesson to be learned somewhere. 

“Don’t get me wrong Andrea, I value and understand where you’re coming from, the dilemma, the pressure of an upbringing.”

Andrea nods. She’s moved on to the salad now, “but.”

“I don’t know that you will ever find anyone that loves you as much as Miranda, she sees the world through your eyes. I have never seen her love someone like you, not even my brother. Perhaps the only other people she loves unconditionally are her daughters. Then you came along. And let me tell you Andrea, she’s changed everything about her for you. When did you remember Miranda to let her walls down and fly around the country chasing someone?”

there is a silence from the brunette. 

“exactly, anyone from lovers to designers would have to come to her, she’d forgive you anything. She would do anything to protect you, to make you happy. She’s madly in love with you Andrea.”  
“I am too, but I don’t think you can understand the weight of a promise. I made the promise to my mother, and whatever decision I take will always be filled with regrets. I could talk about them, about my feelings, my guilt, I could see anyone and everyone but I know I’d feel the same. They will always be demons that haunt me in the back of my mind.”

Anna nods, she’s listening attentively. It’s no longer dismissive like before, she no longer thinks it’s an insolent child she’s talking to. She sees Andrea bear her heart out. 

“Andy, Andy,” the famous editor sighs, a strange vision to see Anna mothering a stranger. It isn’t her personality, she is not known for counseling. Somehow the walls of this hotel are different, she shakes her head and pour coffee. 

“Do you want some coffee?” she asks.

Andrea nods, she hasn’t slept. The coffee is poured and the only sound is the pouring of the liquid. She steps away from the table and sits on one of the leather chairs.  
The younger woman waits for the next words, she sips her coffee from decorated porcelain cups and closes her eyes for a brief moment. 

“What’s it going to be Andrea? Which decision can you live with?”

This time her words are not mothering, there is no kindness in them, she’s waiting for an answer. She’s demanding a decision, like a board meeting with only one person. There is no anger in her voice but there is also no forgiveness, she’s the mediator that Miranda can’t be.

“What will you tell her?” Andrea asks. It’s an odd question because there has been no answer to go off. Anna knows what the brunette is trying to do. In a way, it’s endearing and she’s not oblivious to the heartache she must be feeling. 

“I’m not an advice columnist Andrea, this isn’t Dear Anna,” she pauses.   
Andrea smiles, “I know.”

“So, make a fucking decision, you can’t go on years like this. It is black or white, you do it or you don’t. You decide to be a good girl and leave or decide to be happy and stay. We all pick our heartbreaks Andrea the world isn’t perfect. Nothing can give us 100 percent satisfaction, not all the money, or power or good clothes in the world. That’s not how it works. We all live with demons in our heads, the question is which one can you make friends with?”

Andrea knows this, she has always known it. Ever since the moment she stepped into that hotel suite, ever since she grasped the older editor’s hand. She knew it the moment she left Nate, the moment she moved in the townhouse, the moment her mother made her promise. She has always known it. She’s just not strong enough to pick a side. She was hoping life would pick it out for her, that fate would decide. Maybe it should have been her who died, it would have been easier. Slip into oblivion, she raises her eyes. Maybe it’s not too late for that, maybe she still can stop all the pain. Who’s to judge her? It’s not cowardly, it takes a lot of strength to end your life. Maybe it will stop this fuckign angst that eats her alive, the ghosts that haunt her at night Maybe, maybe that was the solution all along. 

“I know what you are thinking,” Anna says.

It comes out of nowhere, a voice from the window. 

“you do?” Andrea asks.

Anna nods but the window covers her motions, “it does seem easier, I know.”

Andrea gulps. 

“What do you mean?” she says. A rush of courage courses through her.

“I can see it in your eyes, Andrea. I’m a good judge of character,” she walks toward the brunette again.

Andrea looks up, brown eyes meet lighter ones. Anna is an icon, but here she looks more like a judge.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she offers.

“I have thought about it too, and even though it seems heroic, it’s an act of cowardice my dear. I don’t think Miranda would have fallen in love with someone so weak. Whatever you decide, she’ll understand. She’s understand and respect it and she will value it more than having to write your memorial service.”

The fashion diva sets her coffee cup down and walks toward the door, “have a good night Andrea.”

Andrea hears the door open and close, it swooshes. 

“No! Anna, wait!” she yells to an empty room. She twirls in her chair and runs the few feet from the chair to the door, she opens it and yell at an empty hallway, “Anna Wait!” 

Where the fuck did she go so fast? The stairs round the corner, she realizes she has no way to get back into the room, she pads barefooted down the stairs, “Anna!” 

The editor looks up from the foot of the stairs, “Andrea,” she answers. 

Andrea smiles and then she bursts into laugher, a few hotel guests have rounded for an autograph, and she’s standing there in her wrinkled attire with no shoes and puffy eyes. A simple assistant, a no one in the end. 

The people look up at her and smile, “Miss Sachs?” 

One is the hotel attendant, Andrea leans against the wall as Anna discretely sings a few autographs and sends them away. 

“Sachs as in Miranda Priestly’s Sachs?” another guest adds and Andrea shakes her head.   
Anna intervenes, “we need some space, can you arrange that?” 

The front desk agent walks the other guest back, “Andrea? Did you forget the key to your room?”

“My, my you are good at reading people,” she smiles and Anna nods as she raises up the stairs and walks the woman to the room, “it’s my job.”

She opens the door for her and hands her the card back, “it’s Miranda’s she explains. Please wash up and change before you decide to come over to my room.”


	22. Atonement

It’s well into the early morning when Andrea finally exits her hotel room, long wet locks of hair finger combed and hanging. She’s wearing a black jumpsuit and a bare face with eyeliner. She’s calmed her thoughts and made up her mind. She knocks at Anna’s suite. Her watch said it was 3:45 am. Maybe she should have waited.  
The fashion editor of Vogue is still dressed in the same immaculate ensemble that she was wearing earlier. Her eyes question Andrea as the young brunette asks, “Can I come in?”

Anna steps away from the door, Miranda is reclining on a love seat that faces the wall and her silver hair is visible. 

“I’ll step out,” Anna whispers and before either woman could say a word they heard the door lock.

“So,” Andrea starts, she stays motionless for a moment until she sees Miranda’s hand move.

“I want to apologize,” the brunette continues.

“That’s not what I’m looking for,” the older woman interrupts.

“I know, just … let me finish,” she walks over to the opposing love seat and meets blue stormy eyes. Miranda has changed probably into something Anna had bought. Clothes is a sense of comfort, an empower tool for both women and Andrea can see Miranda looks more composed.

“I want to apologize for the last year, for being vague, for not being fully there for us. It was very hard, I know it was hard on you too. I …. It will always be hard Miranda and I want you to understand that.”

The editor looks at Andrea, she knows what comes next, Andrea is going to choose them. She knows that should make her happy and it does, but life is not so simple. She feels like she had to beg for this and while it doesn’t bother her, she knows it will indeed be hard. 

“I choose you, I choose us, it isn’t really a choice. I love you. I love you more than I thought I could ever love. When I’m alone I think of you, when I’m with people I think of you. I wait for your texts, for your call, for a smile. I want to live forever with you, I can see it, our future. And it don’t want anything else. Do you forgive me?” the ex-assistant puts her heart on a sleeve.

Miranda tilts her head slightly, she smiles, a soft whimsical smile, her eyes twinkle, she looks at her young lover as Andrea places her hand on Miranda’s leg. She feels the warmth surround her, she nods benevolently, as if she were approving something. 

“Of course, I do, Andrea. I will always forgive you.”

The plane flies out to New York that same morning, three women with no sleep but looking their best.  
“I know you made the best decision Andrea, but I also know that it cost you a lot. That it cost you part of you,” Anna says as they walk the tarmac to their respective cars.

Andrea nods, “it did Anna, it did.”

There is a beat of silence, “life isn’t early my dear, but I’m always here for you. For the two of you,” she offers.

Andrea smiles, “thank you. I know it was the best decision, sometimes the best things have the highest’s costs.”

*** Years later

The air smelled like lilacs and roses, it was fresh and sophisticated. The summer air was perceivable along the opened glass doors and the shine of the lamps outside filled the room with a soft golden glow. The attendees all laughed and gossiped, that was what Manhattan socialites do in the Hamptons. 

“This is beautiful mom,” Caroline smiled as she took her heels off to tread out into the sand.

Miranda smiled, “I had to throw the biggest party for my college grad,” she sing- sang and Caroline laughed. 

“Now I just have to find a job,” she joked.

“Just be someone’s assistant,” Andrea walks into the conversation with two martinis and the group laughs. 

She hands the second martini to Anna who has been standing silent for a few moments, she’s dressed in Dior because nothing less would do. It’s midnight blue and gold and matches the dark blue earrings that loop around her iconic façade. Miranda eyes Andrea, “where is mine?”

Andrea shrugs, “you didn’t say you wanted one, Anna was explicit here.”

Caroline retreats from the joke and Edward, her fiancé joins her on the late-night walk.

“Don’t forget who’s taking you home later?” Miranda says sarcastically and waves down one of the tuxedo clad waiters walking around. She orders, her soft velvet voice dripping as she does. Anna and Andrea share a smirk.

“You forget I don’t need you to take me home, I live here too,” Andrea laughs and Miranda shakes her head in defeat. 

It’s a lighthearted night. Everyone is in a good mood, Miranda is delighted for her two daughters, her college babies, NYU and Oxford. They had made their mother prouder than she could ever imagine. The swanky music played in background notes from Frank Sinatra to Beyoncé. The notes flowed effortlessly like the glasses of champagne and the twirl of expensive skirts as everyone strived for approval from the two fashion divas in the room.

The evening goes into the morning, some guests leave, others loiter the beach, others talk as the moon dips lower and the grey rays of dawn start to peak and break the black sky. 

“It seems like such a long time ago that the twins were little girls playing pranks on me,” Andrea says as she sits on the sofa, jacket off and ruffled shirts slightly untucked from her chiffon skirt.  
Anna sighs, “I could say the same it’s been a long time since my nieces were born.”

David nods, “it has been indeed, what a twist our lives have taken, right Miranda?” 

She nods, her ex-husband is right. It had been a long journey. 

“I agree,” she says quietly, “and now they are off to continue their lives. Now we’re planning a wedding? How did that happen?”

“And you’ve got an explorer of to Africa for god knows what work,” Anna says of Cassidy.

The younger girl who’s sitting on the right side of her aunt laughs, “It’s artifacts discovery and exploration, that’s how history is discovered,” she clarifies.

“Mmhh right,” Miranda voices, “and how much are these people paying you?”

“Not as much as Runway,” she throws out annoyed at her mother.

“well, well at least we can have cute pictures of you in Indiana jones outfits,” Andrea jokes and Cassidy rolls her eyes, “my mother has changed you Andrea. No more Andy who doesn’t care about clothes.” 

Again, the group laughs and though they have all had more cocktails than they should they wave the waiter down again and ask for a bottle of champagne. 

The talk continues about careers, weddings, friends and memories. It is like it always is in these type of parties, no one has concept of time or place. The morning suddenly dawns on them and Miranda stands out on the veranda of the now empty home. The twins have both gone to sleep, the guests have left, the crew has mostly cleaned up and Andrea is sitting on the chair next to her. They are nursing coffee and each is in a way lost in their own thoughts.

Miranda sometimes likes to recount the years since she met her assistant. How whirling and crazy it all had seemed. More than once she had wondered to herself if maybe it was all proceeding to fast, maybe it wasn’t meant to be like that. It had been like that, she had fallen completely in love with the younger woman sitting a few feet from her. 

Suddenly she turns and sits down across from her lover, “Did you have a good time, darling?”

Andrea nods, she nods softly blinking a few times. The silver haired editor puts a hand on the brunette’s knee. She waits for Andrea to speak.

There is a lingering lost look in the deep brown eyes, a soft smile graces her face. It’s a barely visible smile, soft and sad in a way and only for a few seconds before she says, “I did it was fantastic!” 

The high pitch at the end of her sentence is intended to convey energy and mask the complexity of the feelings she knows have just escaped her. She often feels them, the mix between all her glorious happiness, in between the safe heaven she’s created with Miranda, in between all the love she feels for her; the feelings that she knew would never leave, come.  
She always hides them from Miranda because they are the sacrifice she told Anna about years ago. She smiles to cover them but Miranda knows. Miranda knows her better than she knows herself. She sees it in the second when she nods and her smile conveys a nostalgia so deep that it could break your heart. The editor looks out toward the ocean, to take a deep breath and not cry. She knows that it will always be like that for Andrea and there is nothing she can do. 

“I’m glad, it definitely cost a fortune,” she says continuing the bliss of faked ignorance.  
Andrea grabs her hand and puts the coffee down, “but now that we have no kids in the house, and they are adults we can just stay in bed all day,” she winks and they both laugh. Happiness is always ephemeral. It isn’t guaranteed, it doesn’t last every day we have to learn to grasp it and hold it as long as we can. We have to learn it comes with pain, and loss and that happiness is a combined package of all those for the rest of our life.


End file.
